The Lace Balcony (15 page)

Felix blushed scarlet to hear Severin quote Felix's own endorsement of the work – to which the guests responded with spontaneous applause.

It was then that he saw her. Vianna – his Venus. Every woman in the room wore an extravagant, outsize hat. Except Vianna. She was bareheaded, her ethereal face framed by a thick cloud of golden hair falling to her waist like a cloth of gold. Dressed in a simple flowing gown similar to the one worn in her portrait, with a shawl draped around her ivory shoulders, she personified both innocence and other-worldliness.

As if drawn by a magnet, Felix followed her as she weaved through the crowd towards the dais, where a painting on an easel now stood, concealed by a linen veil.

Severin drew the girl up onto the dais beside him. Vianna smiled at the assembled guests and inclined her head in respectful
acknowledgment of the artist, who seemed to Felix to grow increasingly alarmed when Severin made his announcement.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to unveil for you the pinnacle of the artist's work. This young lady who posed for the artist is already known to you as the “Sydney Venus”.' He gestured to the portrait across the room. “I now invite you to admire the
real
Venus.'

With a flourish he pulled the cover from the painting to reveal what seemed at first glance a duplicate portrait. The same ethereal face, the same pose – except for one difference. Above the Grecian folds of her gown, one breast was exposed, the nipple blood red against the ivory white of her flesh.

The total silence was broken by Vianna's heartfelt cry. ‘Jean-Baptiste! How could you do this to me? I never posed like this!'

Jean-Baptise was distraught. ‘Forgive me! I swear I did not give my permission. This was never to be shown in public!'

The room erupted with outraged cries of ‘Shame on you!' and ‘You hussy!' Figures fought to break through the crowd, either to exit – or to bid to buy the scandalous painting.

Felix was shocked to discover his Venus was mortal. She blanched, then staggered back a step to be clasped in Severin's strong embrace. Felix felt a surge of emotion as she broke free and tried to pass through the throng of men, who despite their vocal outrage, reached out to touch her, question her and delay her exit.

For the first time in his life Felix experienced the blood lust of battle. He blindly pushed aside every man who blocked his path and fought his way to her side.

The shock he saw registered in those blue eyes told him what he must do. He lifted her up in his arms, calling out, ‘Let me pass, you bastards! The lady needs air!' He thrust his way to the exit and carried her out into the garden.

Felix was light-headed from the glorious feeling of her arms clasped around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder as she sobbed like a child. Gone was all thought of the mother he had abandoned. He had only one searing thought in his brain.
I must rescue her. Take her home – to Rockingham Hall.

He had almost reached the safety of the family carriage when a giant of a man with a broken nose and pugnacious set to his jaw
wrested Vianna from his arms – and punched Felix in the face, intent on pulverising him.

‘That's quite enough, Blewitt. The gentleman meant well.'

At the sharp command of the Honourable Montague Severin, the giant instantly froze in the stance of a boxer.

Uncertain of his next move, Felix took a step towards the sobbing girl. ‘Please, allow me to escort you home, Miss Vianna.'

Her eyes widened and she ceased crying, about to answer him.

Severin intercepted her reply with a deceptively easy manner. ‘My thanks to you, Mr L'Estrange, for your gallantry. But this lady is
my
responsibility. She is safe in my hands. Your servant, Sir.'

His words were accompanied by a brief bow then Severin swiftly escorted Vianna to his carriage and climbed in beside her, ordering Blewitt to drive off.

A crack of the whip and the horses charged off at a gallop.

Only then did Felix become conscious of the pain in his jaw. He stood breathing heavily, hatless and assaulted by the wind. Blood poured from his nose, staining his shirtfront. He barely noticed it. He was shocked by the girl's public humiliation – the artist's betrayal of her, but even more by his own initiative in rescuing her. His thoughts were scrambled, confused by champagne.

Her shocked reaction seemed genuine. The Frog denied giving Severin the right to display it. But Severin is his patron. Which one of them is telling the truth?

Felix's eyes were drawn to the retreating carriage.
Severin is a gentleman – yet despite his charm I don't trust him . . . Oh God, here comes Mother on the warpath.

Albruna L'Estrange's back was ramrod straight. She glanced with horror at his appearance but brushed past him, rejecting his hand to assist her into the carriage.

‘We will never speak of this again, Felix. God willing word will not reach Mrs Darling of my son's extraordinary, vulgar conduct.'

Confused and angered by the injustice of her censure, Felix closed the door, gave Old Crawford the order to drive her home – and to return for him in an hour.

‘I shall see you at dinner, Mother.' She stared at him in consternation but did not argue as the carriage drove off.

Felix stood buffeted by the wind, unheeding of the haughty stares at his bloody appearance. He found himself smiling at what had occurred inside.

I can't believe I did that. I called Sydney's Exclusives ‘bastards!' and rescued a damsel in distress. For once Mungo Quayle would have been proud of me.

When Felix re-entered Henrietta Villa, the ballroom was still swarming with gentlemen all jostling for position around the clerk recording the sale of paintings. A glance around the ballroom showed a rash of cards attached to the paintings, showing most had been sold.

In search of Bonnard, Felix was directed to an ante-chamber, where he found him slumped in a chair, staring morosely into his wine. Despite the furore Felix felt a jolt of sympathy for the artist, who was now well on the way to being inebriated.

‘It seems you are now a
cause celebre
,' Felix said warily.

The artist's eyes were haunted. ‘The whole Colony will believe Vianna is shameless – or that I betrayed her.'

‘I would welcome your version of the story.'

‘I did – and I did
not,'
he said tragically. ‘Vianna will never believe the truth. I fell in love with her. What man could resist her? I knew I could never hope to possess her. Severin's hold on her is too strong.'

‘I understand,' Felix prompted, hoping to learn more about her.

‘I was enchanted by her the first time I heard her sing – at Severin House. I lose so much at his gaming table – I never hope to repay him. Severin, he agreed to wipe out my debt by holding this exhibition. On condition I paint – his mistress.'

‘Did she allow you to paint her – like that?'

‘One day while sitting for the first painting, she fell asleep on the chaise. The breeze blew her robe,' he gestured delicately to his own chest. ‘I confess it. The artist in me was tempted. I did not wake her. I painted the beauty I saw – solely for my own pleasure. What harm could there be?'

‘You intended no one would ever see it but you?'

‘Exactly! But Severin discovered the second Venus. He demanded to possess it for himself –
not
for the exhibition. I believed him!'

Felix considered the story carefully. ‘And I believe
you.
'

‘Thank you! But Vianna will never believe – I know her. To the
world she is a courtesan. But to me she is an innocent – in search of true love!'

Felix sought desperately for a solution. The champagne wasn't helping.

What would Mungo do? He'd probably steal the portrait.

‘I have an idea. To protect the lady's honour, allow
me
to buy it – at whatever price you name.'

Jean-Baptiste shook his head in confusion. ‘How does this protect her?'

‘You have my word as a gentleman. It will remain in your hands, not Severin's. And because it is legally mine, Severin can never lay hands on it.'

Jean-Baptiste leapt up from the sofa and to Felix's consternation, kissed him warmly on both cheeks. ‘Monsieur L'Estrange! You are the genius!'

They wasted no time in convincing the clerk that
that
painting was indeed for sale. Felix presented a cheque that would go a long way to wiping out Bonnard's debt.

As he walked to the iron gates of Henrietta Villa, Felix felt light of heart.

This is the first time I've spent Father's money on a noble cause. Father is no hypocrite. He will approve of my protection of a woman's name – given that for years he's done his best to protect his mistress, Jane Quayle.

The thought of Mungo brought a twist of jealousy. No matter how hard I try to be the perfect son, the Prodigal Son will always rank first in Father's eyes.

•  •  •

On the return journey to Severin House, Vianna remained silent until her fury broke free. ‘You betrayed me, Severin. I shall never forgive you.'

He remained sanguine. ‘Oh yes, you
will
, m'dear. I kept my promise. I have transformed you into the most talked about woman in the whole Colony. The legend of Vianna Francis, the Sydney Town Venus, has now begun – thanks to me.'

His smile was that of a man who held the master card. ‘Tonight, Vianna, I expect you to be
very
grateful.'

Mungo was seated on a fallen tree trunk, absorbed in working on the diary that he had been assigned to record under Dr Gordon's instructions the descriptions, sketches and exact locations of the species of trees, plants and rocks they had examined and taken samples of during the past days of their expedition.

Dr Gordon was pleased that they had not only confirmed Logan's previous identification of the ironbark, blue gum, box and apple eucalypts, and as yet unnamed trees with a broad leaf, but had also added an impressive number of new butterflies for Mrs Logan's collection.

Mungo accepted that Sandy had no choice but to obey orders to follow in the wake of Logan's group, which consisted of his servant, Private Collison of the 57th Regiment, three prisoners who were seasoned bushmen, their horses, plus two pack bullocks carrying food, weapons and ammunition.

To Mungo their own little band of two men on horseback, one being an invalid leader, plus an old packhorse loaded with rock specimens and botanical equipment, seemed like the scrag end of Captain Logan's distant armed party of soldiers.

The contrast was ironic.
Thanks to Sandy's Quaker beliefs, all I've got to defend us is my sheath knife.

Not that Mungo had any cause for complaint. He knew this exploration was Logan's final bid for glory before he and his 57th Regiment set sail for their next posting.
India's gain is our gain – that's almost as good as having the bastard dead.

Free from leg irons and under Sandy Gordon's benign leadership, Mungo could taste the freedom in his mouth. The October air was balmy, the haunting rainforest of such wild, exotic beauty that Mungo was entranced.
This is God's own country. If I hadn't got myself transported up here, this is the place I would have chosen to settle with my bride and raise a family of little Quayles. But if I live long enough to finish my sentence, I won't come back in a hurry. Too many ghosts.

In the days following the meal of Diamond Python, Mungo had promised wallaby stew and baked lizard, but was relieved when his leader opted for the veritable feasts of barramundi which Mungo caught daily. In the days to come Mungo was to remember this time as their last period of relaxed, shared laughter.

He began to feel a dark shadow had fallen across their path. He sensed that Sandy's tension had escalated in an exact parallel with his determination to press on, despite earlier warnings about the natives' growing hostility to Logan's invasive journeys into their tribal land.

Mungo noticed how Sandy flinched each time they heard the echo of musket fire. Fragile in health as he was, the doctor was no coward. But it was clear he seriously doubted the wisdom of Logan's orders: to fire over the natives' heads to frighten them off whenever they encountered them deep in the bush. The blacks were so adept at making themselves invisible it was impossible to tell their numbers, or whether they might be surrounded by them at any given time.

As sunset inflamed the sky in streaks of tropical colour, Mungo wrote up the details of the day's tasks and findings, trying to gauge their position in relation to the names on Logan's last hand-written survey map, now tattered and travel-stained. Evocative, tantalising names spread out across the paper, including Limestone Hills, Lockyer's Creek, Pumice Stone River, Glass House, Mount Warning. Some were originally named by Captain James Cook on his voyage of discovery, others no doubt by Logan to curry favour with Governor Darling, such as the Dumaresq River, in honour of Mrs Darling's brothers.

Mungo tried to appear confident but honesty began to get the better of him.

Where the bloody hell are we? On some wild goose chase between Moreton Bay and Logan's new Limestone Station? Or out the back of beyond? No doubt Logan knows exactly where he is, but I exaggerated my bushcraft skills so Sandy would choose me to assist him.

Mungo grew steadily uneasy and was finally forced to admit defeat. ‘I've studied this map and I'm bushed. Do you know where we are?'

Sandy drew on his pipe. ‘By my reckoning we're camped on the Limestone side of the river. We can't be too far behind Logan.
I suggest you and I take turns at sentry duty tonight. I suspect we're none too welcome here.'