The Lace Balcony (43 page)

She sprang to Mungo's side. His pale, sweating face managed a half smile.

‘Good girl. One scream, one false move and I'd have been history.'

‘I thought I'd lost you. How brave you were! I didn't know what to do.'

‘You only had two choices. Stay perfectly quiet – or go to my funeral.'

His laugh sounded like a rusty saw. ‘Do you think you could rustle up a brandy for breakfast?'

They lay huddled together, passing the flask back and forth. Now the danger was past, Mungo was trembling from head to foot in shock.

‘Next snake I see I'll kill it first and ask questions later,' Vianna promised.

‘Why? He was only doing what snakes are born to do. Find a warm place to sleep until sunrise.' He choked on the laughter caught
in his throat. ‘I knew a bloke once who got bitten by a Tiger Snake on his finger – he chopped it in half.'

‘The snake?'

‘No, his finger. Better to lose a finger than his life. But if that Tiger had sunk his fangs into me, I'd have died trying to decide which fate was worse – losing my life or my waterworks. Hell! Sorry about the language.'

Mungo's do-or-die choice was so appalling, the brandy so potent and his laughter so infectious that Vianna fell against him, both on the edge of hysteria.

By sunrise the small flask was dry. Mungo was pleasantly drunk.

‘Now it's back to work. We'll call in at the timber mill and pass on Father's instructions to the overseer. I'd better warn you, those blokes are as tough as cedar trunks. They'll fight each other to dance with you tonight. They haven't set eyes on a woman in a year or two – so it's open season on anything in petticoats. But I reckon they'll draw the line at a man's missus.' He peered at her bleary-eyed, trying to keep her in focus. ‘Do you mind if I introduce you as my wife?'

Vianna shrugged. ‘Better that than if I'd introduced myself as your widow.'

That set Mungo off again, weak with relief. Vianna knew he was in no condition to drive around hairpin bends and along the narrow tracks cut into the side of the cliff face. She took control, throwing his bedroll into the cart, clambering up onto the driver's seat, convinced she was the slightly more sober of the two.

‘I'll drive. You navigate,' she said. Flicking the whip in the air, she set the horse off at a smart pace along the track leading to the sawmills.

Driving along, Vianna began to sing a risqué song she had used to entertain the gamblers at Severin House. In her heart she sent up a prayer to the God she had never known.
Thank you for saving Mungo's life.

She was startled by Mungo's echo of her thought. ‘Thanks for saving my life.'

‘I didn't. If it's true that only the good die young, no doubt you, Mungo Quayle, will live to a ripe old age . . .'
That is, if Severin doesn't find him first.

In an attempt to banish Severin from her mind, she snapped an order. ‘Come on, make yourself useful. Where's the turn-off to the cedar camp? I quite fancy the idea of being the only woman at a bush camp, with scores of men who haven't seen a woman's face in years, queuing up to dance with me.'

‘Yeah,' said Mungo with resignation, ‘I reckon
you would.
'

The noise of the civil war that had broken out downstairs in his office caused Kentigern L'Estrange to hurtle out of his bedchamber and along the corridors with Jane Quayle at his heels until she halted as they reached the Bridge of Sighs.

‘What are you waiting for, woman? Your son's as much at fault as
hers
is.'

They both knew the unspoken rules. ‘I will never cross over into your wife's domain,' Jane said coldly. ‘If she does not set foot in mine.'

‘Are you defying me?'

In answer she raised a stubborn chin, turned her back and walked away.

He tried to save face. ‘All right, take the servants' stairs. Meet me there.'

The shouting from his office grew more volatile at his approach. Three wide-eyed servant girls broke apart and scurried out of his path, obviously caught eavesdropping on the drama inside.

Kentigern threw open the doors, infuriated by the sight of Mungo and Felix standing toe to toe grappling each other, their blond heads and angry faces a reminder of them as they once were – two schoolboys locked in combat.

Their father waved his walking stick in the air with all the authority of a general ordering an errant cavalry into line. ‘How dare you! End this appalling behaviour this instant or I'll ram this poker up the arse of whichever one of you scoundrels continues to fight! I refuse to countenance civil war under my roof, do you hear?'

Shame-faced, Mungo and Felix froze then broke apart, hastily adjusting their jackets and smoothing wild locks of hair into place.

‘My pardon, Father, I got carried away,' Felix apologised.

‘My fault, Sir. I baited Felix beyond endurance.'

‘It's all over that confounded female, isn't it? Don't lie.'

‘Not her fault, Sir,' Mungo responded quickly.

‘No one but ours, Sir,' Felix agreed smartly.

‘You can both agree on
one
damned thing, at least. If I catch you disturbing the peace once more, I'll turf that girl out into the street. And what's more I'll carpet each of you in the presence of your mothers.'

This latter threat was so dire to Felix that Mungo almost grinned despite himself.

‘Is someone taking my name in vain?' the cool, aristocratic voice of Albruna L'Estrange enquired from the doorway.

‘I've finished with him. He's all yours,' snapped the Master, shooting his cuffs and straightening his cravat as he charged from the room.

Mungo saw that Mrs Less looked unusually attractive today, in a smoky pink summer gown that made her appear softer, younger, than in her formal mode of dress.

‘It was nothing important, Mrs L'Estrange,' Mungo assured her. ‘You know how hotheaded we colonials are about political issues involving Governor Darling.'

Felix picked up his cue with alacrity. ‘I shall be glad to pay your respects to Mrs Darling at the ball this evening, Mutti. Pity you are unable to attend.'

‘Indeed, but needs must,' she said obliquely. ‘I am required to confirm details for your father's birthday dinner. I trust it will come as a
pleasant
surprise.'

Her averted eyes did not fool Mungo for a moment.
This is a blind. Mrs Less is up to her neck in something she's desperate to conceal.

Mungo kept up his own subterfuge. ‘Well Felix, I'll continue to brief you later about my journey to your father's timber mills in the Illawarra. And perhaps you'd care to enlighten me about your own recent experiences,' he said, a sly reference to Felix's clandestine activities at
Mookaboola.

Their fracas had broken out when each confronted the other about their clandestine activities involving Vianna. Felix had been outraged about the Illawarra bivouac undertaken during his absence, but at this moment he was more intent on avoiding his mother's censure.

‘We'll talk later, Mungo.' Felix's eyes glinted green with anger. ‘Excuse me, Mother. I must prepare for my visit to the Observatory – the telescope is first class.'

He bowed to his mother and sailed from the room.

It was Mungo's turn to feel trounced. Molly Baker had confided her excitement that Felix had asked her to act as Vianna's chaperone on this trip to the Observatory.

Mungo switched his energies to his own plans, as yet unknown to Vianna.

In the smoking room he found his father engaged in conversation with Sandy Gordon, in what appeared to be a social rather than professional visit. They had slipped into a relaxed, first-name relationship, except in public.

‘Consider yourself blessed you never married, Sandy. Children can cause as much grief as pleasure.'

‘I dinna have one foot in the grave, yet, Kentigern. It's not too late for me to take a good woman to wife.'

‘There's said to be a beauty stashed away under Mungo's roof. You'd be doing us all a favour if you took
her
off my hands. She's like Helen of Troy – two rival factions fighting over her. No good can come of it!' he said morosely.

Sandy gave a throaty cough, ‘I suspect I know the lass to whom ye refer. The less said from me on that score, the better.'

Mungo gave a discreet cough from the doorway.

‘Ah, here comes trouble,' Kentigern said with a reluctant smile. ‘What is it you be wanting, lad?'

‘To ask a favour, Sir. Felix will of course be travelling in the family carriage to the Governor's Ball – alone. Mrs L'Estrange has the chaise at her disposal.'

‘No business of mine. Free to do as she pleases,' he said gruffly.

Mungo cleared his throat. ‘With your permission, Sir. I'd like to borrow the old carriage that's just been repaired. One night only. No coachman needed. I'll be driving it myself. I'll polish it up and you have my word I'll return it in better condition than it is now.'

‘That wouldn't be too hard. Cracked leather upholstery. Cobwebs.' His father eyed him keenly. ‘True reason? A girl?'

‘You can count on it. I am my father's son, Sir.' Mungo said politely and drew a begrudging hoot at his daring response.

‘Why not? Felix will be driven by Old Crawford. Of course Felix hates social occasions of any kind – but he's an eligible catch for the matchmakers. Tonight's ball may be the last of the season. Darling's got his marching orders – gone come December. Good riddance!'

Despite his wife's close relationship with Mrs Darling, the patriarch sided with W.C. Wentworth's
Australian
newspaper, the voice for many highly critical of Darling's term as Governor, jubilant he had been recalled to England.

He added grumpily, ‘If I had my way you'd have been invited, lad.'

Mungo was touched by this unexpected sign of his father's unrealistic expectations.

‘I don't need the Guv's seal of approval, Sir. I'd rather make love than dance.'

‘Bon chance!' his father said and waved him away in good humour. ‘Spare me the details. All's fair in love and war, but I refuse to act as the referee!'

•  •  •

Mungo wasted no time. The wheelwright had done a fine job and the new wheels were in place. During the remainder of the day Mungo cleaned and polished the exterior of the old carriage and although unable to restore the cracked leather upholstery, he disguised it with one of his mother's hand-made quilts. With a tin of gold paint and not without a touch of irony, he touched up the scratches on the L'Estrange family crest,
There but for the grace of God go I.

He stood back to admire the end result of his labours. ‘All ship shape and Bristol fashion. And now, “a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.”'

He took Boadicea aside and coaxed her into volunteering for the job.

‘I know you're a cut above this kind of work, Boadicea. But it's only for one night. I'll have your coat shining fit to rival the sun. And no doubt the lady will reward you – and maybe reward me too, if I'm in luck.'

Tucked under his arm was an old tricorn hat borrowed from Crawford, a legacy of the old man's service in England as a coachman
before he was transported. On those nights he chose to act as coachman he now wore smart new L'Estrange livery.

Only Jane Quayle was privy to Mungo's plans for the night of the ball. Seated now at her kitchen table in his shirt sleeves, covered with dust and smelling of polish and turpentine, Mungo drained her teapot and helped himself liberally to her Manx chocolate cake. Feeling buoyed up, he checked the agenda for the evening with his mother.

‘As soon as Vianna returns with Felix from the Observatory, he'll head for the west wing to dress for the ball. That gives Vianna time to bathe and do whatever women do to their hair. You've pressed her ballgown?'

‘Been ready since dawn,' his mother said calmly. ‘And the hot water's playing on the stove ready for her bath. I've checked her dancing slippers don't have holes in the soles though they're so paper thin they probably will by the end of the ball. Your evening clothes are pressed and hanging in the schoolroom ready for you to change. Vianna will bathe and dress here. Relax. Everything is going to plan.'

‘Bless you, Mam. You could organise a whole battalion.'

Mungo tried to read her mind. Although Vianna had studied her lessons diligently each day, she had acted strangely since the day at Sandy's surgery. Their close encounter with the Tiger Snake had bonded them more closely together – but since her return she had reclaimed the former distance between them. Did his mother know the cause?
Females always close ranks when it involves secret women's business.

His mother was brusque but reassuring. ‘The one thing that remains is for you to include
Vianna
in your plans. Beats me why you've kept her in the dark.'

Mungo was evasive. ‘Didn't want Felix to get wind of it. You know him. He'd be appalled by the idea of her fronting up at Government House.'

‘How do you aim to smuggle her past the guards?'

‘Open sesame!' he said, producing the invitation with a flourish. ‘The handwriting of her name and the Guv's is perfect – if I do say so myself.'

Jane's smile froze. ‘You forged
his
name? They'll clap you in irons!'

‘Not a chance, Mam. But even if I did get nicked, it would be worth it. Vianna believes she's beyond the pale. That society will never accept her. That's why I've set up this whole thing. The Governor's Ball will prove to her she's as good as any toffee-nosed heiress.'

‘But you're her coachman. You won't be free to dance with her. Felix will!'