The Lace Balcony (37 page)

Vianna studied the mansion's doors and windows, trying to discover the relationship between the master and servants. She knew the unseen patriarch's reputation in society, and it was clear that here his word was law. Jane Quayle scurried to the main house whenever her presence was demanded. And who was that handsome blonde woman who resided in the twin to the Master's residence?

Vianna's eye was suddenly caught by a swarm of sulphur-crested cockatoos that flew down in screeching spirals to cover the stark limbs of a giant eucalypt, stripped of its leaves.

Death by lightning. They say it never strikes twice in the same place – I trust I'm not the exception to the rule. Yesterday I lived in luxury, the toast of Sydney Town. Today my one possession is a broken mermaid's tail!

As she towelled her hair dry on the balcony, Vianna felt surprisingly calmed by the tranquillity that emanated from the garden's wild, exotic marriage between native and European flora, from its trees, native birds, lizards and the hissing goanna that basked on stones heated by the sun.

Charmed by the theatrical play of strong sunlight that was like an overture to the kind of golden summer morning she had seldom been awake to witness at Severin House, Vianna's eye was caught by a balcony on the top storey. A telescope was angled at the sky.
No prizes for guessing that's Felix's domain.

A figure emerged on an identical balcony on the other mansion. Naked from the waist up, he was also towelling his hair dry. Bronzed by the sun, his muscular torso was in deep contrast with his sun-bleached hair.
Mungo.
Her heart gave an involuntary lurch.

How is it that Severin taught me every erotic trick in the book and
made me an expert in the love arts and yet no man ever kissed me like Mungo Quayle? Best forgotten.

She quickly averted her gaze to the glass-encased bridge that linked the two wings. Seconds later Mungo had disappeared.

And then the tranquillity of the garden was shattered by an eruption of violence. A young servant girl in uniform emerged in full flight from the rear of the western mansion, shrieking what sounded like a Gaelic battle cry.

The sulphur-crested cockatoos took their cue from this human terror, screeching in protest as they flew in wild sweeping arcs that sent down a shower of feathers like the wings of a fallen angel.

The faces of women and children, alive with interest, appeared at all the doors and windows, with one exception – the window where the telescope remained trained on the scene like a blind eye. Voices in a wide range of accents were raised in speculation about Cook and ‘Mad Molly Baker'.

Vianna guessed that the stout, ruddy-faced woman standing with arms akimbo in the midst of a crowd of quizzing servants was Cook, and that the dishevelled girl now screaming out for help was her daughter Molly, who had once brought her flowers from Felix.

‘Come quick smart! I'll lock ye out of harm's way in cellar,' Cook ordered but Molly yelled in denial, ‘No! He'll only beat you again, Mam.'

Hands pointed, voices yelled like children at a pantomime to warn the heroine of the presence of the Demon King. Molly's terror was genuine when a dark, burly man sprang over the fence and charged at her. Vianna joined the chorus of warnings.

Trapped by the iron gate that closed off the walkway between the cabins, Molly gave a heart-rending scream, wildly punching the air with the fists that were her sole weapons of defence.

My God, the kid's got guts. She's half his size.

Vianna leaned over the balcony to gain a closer look at her attacker, a huge, cumbersome brute of a man, with a sallow, pock-pitted face. A torn shirt revealed the tattooed torso of an old lag and his crudely hewn features suggested the work of a caricaturist who had dashed off a half-finished lampoon. His staggered gait and slurred speech proved he was heavily in drink.

‘Come here, Molly, love. Give your old father a kiss – and all's forgiven.'

Baker's attempts to embrace his daughter failed. Molly shoved him away, her arms outstretched to ward him off. His bull-like roar demanded her silence. When she continued to scream, he delivered a backhander that sent her flying against the metal gate with such force her body ricocheted back against his chest. A rain of blows rocked his target – Molly's head.

Vianna froze at the rush of memories of when she was the target of a man's violence. Ironically, although she had relied on Severin's protection from violent patrons, he had considered it his due to chastise her on occasion.

Rising above her own fear, Vianna gripped the balcony rail and cried out, ‘Leave her be, you coward!'

The crowd started up the chant, ‘Bully Baker! Bully Baker!'

Startled by her lady-like voice of authority, Baker traced the words to her balcony, as he continued to strike Molly. She was chilled by his bloodshot eyes.
He knows where to find me.

Clustered together in solidarity, the servants waved their fists, shouting advice to Molly from a safe distance. Their expressions were those of spectators at an uneven match between pugilists. Children barely able to walk pushed between their mothers' skirts. Urchins perched on the stone wall or shinned up the lightning-crippled gumtree to gain a better vantage point.

Vianna was startled by the boy who sat with legs swinging free from the high branch of a tree. His words pierced the chorus of female catcalls, shouting his advice to the man pummelling Molly's face.

‘Yeah, that's the stuff. Give her one for me, Baker!'

In answer a woman sprang to the foot of the tree, shaking her fist at the boy, and yelled at him in an Irish accent thick enough to curdle milk.

‘Shut yer trap, ye eedjit! Git yer arse down here quick smart. Or I swear by the saints, I will be chopping that tree for firewood – and yourself with it!'

‘Sheet!' The lad took a flying leap into space, landed heavily on the flagstones of the adjacent garden and headed for the road as if a she-devil was on his tail.

Molly's bloodied face was now barely recognisable. Vianna was about to run down into the street to search for a police constable, when she saw the servants draw back. A young man in frockcoat and top hat cut a swathe between them.

From that distance she was unsure whether it was Felix or Mungo. They were of similar tall, long-limbed build and she had never seen them together. But Mungo's swagger was unmistakable.

Sun-streaked hair fell to his shoulders as he removed the hat instantly taken by one of the servant girls surrounding him, begging him to take control. It was a side to Mungo she had never seen.
These people trust him.

He raised a hand in a casual request for calm. The hushed silence was broken only by the plaintive voice of a small urchin tugging at Mungo's sleeve.

‘Yer gunna fix the bully good, ain't ye?'

Mungo absently patted the lad's head but kept his eyes fixed on the far end of the garden.

Baker, suddenly aware of the threat posed by another man, drew a large knife from the sheath at his belt. Brandishing the blade for all to see, he twisted Molly to face the crowd, pinioning her against his chest as a shield for his own body. Baring his teeth in a show of triumph, he placed the knifepoint against her flesh at the point between her breasts – waving the knife to show he had drawn blood.

Several women crossed themselves, their lips moving in prayer, but Vianna was too angry to ask for divine intervention.
If only I were a man I would . . . what
would
I do? Mungo is unarmed against a violent drunkard.

Projecting an air of calm, Mungo divested himself of his frockcoat, which was respectfully cradled by Cook. Stripped down to a ruffled white shirt and tightly cut dark trousers, he looked as carefree as if he had just enjoyed a fencing match.

Sauntering down the garden path he paused to admire the spiky blooms of a native bottlebrush. He did not bother to look directly at Baker as he addressed him.

‘So we meet again, Mr Baker.'

The drunkard registered a grunt of confusion.

Vianna caught her breath.
What is Mungo playing at, calling the coward ‘Mr' as a mark of respect?

Advancing a few paces, Mungo leaned nonchalantly against the stone wall.

‘If I'd known to expect you, Mr Baker, I'd have greeted you with a bottle of the new L'Estrange claret. I'd be pleased for your expert opinion as a publican.'

‘Ye be jesting!' Baker retorted, ‘A cellarman I am – or was, before the
Red Dragon
's publican give me the boot.'

‘A temporary reversal. You'll soon rise to be a publican, I'm sure.'

Molly's involuntary whimper caused her father to tighten his grip around her throat. An anxious murmur rippled through the crowd.

‘Perhaps you'd care to sample our latest vintage in the cellar – at your convenience, of course,' Mungo suggested politely.

Somewhat mollified by Mungo's invitation, Baker withdrew the knife blade to a slightly less threatening position, swaying on his feet.

Mungo continued soothingly, ‘I appreciate your concern for your daughter's welfare, Mr Baker, as a good father should. Allow me to assure you that Mrs L'Estrange keeps her female servants well protected. Molly is highly regarded – a most virtuous girl, is she not?'

Baker seized the chance to defend his own honour. ‘Aye, but her mother's a whore! She made me live in sin 'cos she claimed on convict ship's records she was married afore she was transported. She lied. She's a
widow
. And the lazy bitch never did nothing but spend me hard-earned money. I'm taking me daughter away with me – it's for
Molly's own good.
'

‘Not if I can help it, Baker!' The God-like voice reverberated from on high, causing Baker to lose concentration for the few seconds he spent searching the sky.

Mungo took a flying leap through the air to land on top of Baker, struggling for possession of his knife.

‘Run, Molly, run!' Felix L'Estrange roared down from his balcony,

Molly Baker leapt free and ran straight into Cook's arms, burying her face in the expanse of bosom and mingling her tears with her mother's. Prompted by her mother, Molly looked up at the young master and bobbed a curtsey. ‘Thank you, Sir.'

But Vianna noticed that her duty done, Molly had eyes for none but Mungo.

Who could blame her? He's the stuff of heroes. Please God, not a dead hero.

Mungo was fighting like a tiger, locked with Baker in a deadly embrace, rolling over and under him.

Vianna was furious that the crowd was cheering itself hoarse.

An urchin called out, ‘I'm placing my bet on Mungo Quayle!'

What occurred next was so rapid Vianna held her breath.

Baker's knife was now only inches from Mungo's head. Sweat dripping from his face, Mungo forced the knife down inch by inch to stab the ground. His knee in Baker's groin sent the bully flying in an arc to crash on the flagstones. The knife flashed in Mungo's hand as he held the tip of the blade between the man's eyes.

‘One sneeze from you and I'll skewer your eyeball!'

Vianna cried in triumph when the bully turned coward, whimpering for mercy.

Felix arrived on the scene, immaculately dressed as usual, and handed Mungo a coil of rope. He held Baker at knifepoint while Mungo trussed the man's arms and legs so tightly together that the prisoner could barely shuffle.

Women and children surged forward to jeer at him. Molly, her swollen eyes peering through matted hair, found the strength to take a swipe at her father's head.

‘That'll teach you to beat my mother!'

Felix gently restrained Molly from further violence.

Vianna was thrilled.
It's like a scene in a novel.

The crowd hooted approval when Mungo addressed him in a tone of mock solicitude. ‘My apologies if the rope's too tight. It's
for your own good,
Mr Baker!'

Mungo spun him around for the crowd's inspection.

Felix took control with the unmistakable authority of those born to rule. ‘If you dare lay hands on any woman or child, Baker, my father and I will personally see you're transported to Norfolk Island – never to return!'

From the balcony, Vianna saw that Jane Quayle was now deftly bandaging Molly's face with a poultice. One elderly woman
reverently took young master L'Estrange's hand and kissed it. Small children clasped Mungo around the knees and looked up at him in admiration.

Vianna felt a surge of pride in them both, delighted to witness the all too rare victory of women beaten at the hands of men. Yet she gasped when Mungo knotted a length of rope into a noose. But he only slipped it around Baker's neck, just tight enough to keep him on a leash as he led him down the walkway into the street.

Anticipating their progress, Vianna ran to the front window overlooking Little Rockingham Street to gain a final glimpse of the motley procession chanting ribald rhymes as they marched Bully Baker in the direction of the Watch House.

Suddenly released from tension, Vianna collapsed onto the bed laughing until her eyes were wet with tears.

What a stunning piece of teamwork from those two rivals. Mungo's wits and Felix's timing saved Molly from likely death at her father's hands.

One key question remained unanswered. Exactly what was the relationship between these houses? Including the loft in which she was marooned like an unclaimed piece of baggage.

The garden was once more tranquil, bathed by the heat of the sun.

Vianna caught sight of an imposing figure at a window of the west wing, a man with a leonine head of white hair. She did not doubt this was Kentigern L'Estrange. When Jane Quayle completed tending Molly, she looked directly up at his window. At his almost imperceptible nod she crossed to his wing of the house.