The Lace Balcony (55 page)

‘I'll be close at hand, Sir, if you should require anything else.'

The words are meant to reassure me.
Vianna was touched, but now that she was left alone with him any confidence she felt was draining fast.

‘I am pleased to find you recovered from your ordeal, Severin. But I should tell you that I only came here to talk with James Dalby.' She faltered, unwilling to offer an explanation that would involve Felix.

‘JD Esquire, I presume? James neglected to tell me, but I chanced to read Felix L'Estrange's advertisement in the new
Sydney Herald.
I confess I did not anticipate
your
arrival. What initiative, Vianna. You quite surprise me.'

‘My life has changed in many ways, Severin. There is no longer any reason for Daisy and me to live apart. If you decline to reveal her whereabouts, perhaps James, being a
true
gentleman, will do so.'

Severin made a languid gesture. ‘JD Esquire at your service, Madame.'

Vianna felt her mouth dry. ‘So the bait was laid by you – not James?' His silence confirmed it. ‘Why does that not surprise me?' she asked lightly to cover her acute disappointment.

He poured two glasses of champagne with his back turned away from her.

‘You'll have a long wait for James. He just returned to
Regency Park
to visit his wife's sick bed. So I have you all to myself, m'dear.'

Examining a solid silver candlestick on the table, Vianna's hand trembled. She summoned up her courage to aim it at the back of Severin's elegant coiffure. Severin did not even bother to turn his head. ‘I suggest you put that down, Vianna.'

It was then she saw his smile reflected in the mirror that had betrayed her intention.

He handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Let us toast to the happy coincidence of our reunion.'

‘To my reunion with Daisy,' Vianna said firmly. ‘She is my one priority.'

‘By all means. I have fond memories of the child.' He clinked his glass against hers. ‘To Daisy.'

Vianna thankfully quenched her thirst, glad of the reprieve from speaking.

Severin looked thoughtful. ‘But first we must discuss
our
future plans. You know me better than anyone alive, my little courtesan. You knew I would never rest until you returned to me – of your own free will. And here you are.'

‘You are mistaken, Severin. That is out of the question. We signed a contract for me to live under Felix's protection, remember?'

‘How could I forget the circumstances?' he said coolly. ‘But you are not yet L'Estrange's mistress. Don't waste time lying, Vianna, I know the truth before I ask.'

How much of the truth? Does he know about our strange
ménage à trois
?

Severin continued suavely. ‘If you refuse to honour your contract with Felix L'Estrange his contract with me is null and void – which means you remain in my keeping.'

‘In that case I presume that you, true to your gentlemen's agreement, will return the money he advanced you?'

Severin's laugh was tolerant. ‘I see you have retained your delightful, child-like naïveté. Do you find it amusing, reduced to living above stables.'

Severin knows everything – so Mungo is in terrible danger. I must do nothing to antagonise him. I need to play for time.

‘A temporary measure. Felix has other plans for us, a lovely mansion near Hunters-hill. It is not what you or I would have chosen, somewhat isolated and no doubt boring after our exciting life at Severin House, but as you promised me, Severin, it will only be for a year, will it not?'

Vianna gave him the teasing little girl smile that always managed to charm him. She rose to her feet. ‘So we will soon meet again. No doubt you already have plans for us for an even grander Severin House . . . ?'

‘You will stay,' he said with quiet confidence.

‘First take me to Daisy – and I will do
anything
to please you.'

‘I'm sorry I have to hurt you, my darling. Believe me, the publican who took Daisy into his family was kind to her. It seems that scarlatina epidemic three years ago claimed many children's lives . . . there's been no trace of her or the publican since then. Vianna, I'm so sorry.'

Dead?
The room rocked beneath her feet. ‘I don't believe you. She's alive.'

‘Don't you know I would do anything to bring her back to you? I didn't have the heart to tell you. I'm not a monster, you know.'

Her voice sounded strange, unrelated to her. ‘You lost all trace of her? How hard did you try, Severin? No, I don't believe you. Even you couldn't be so heartless to hide the truth from me – for three years! You know how I've been living in hope of the day I could have her live with me.'

He shrugged sadly. ‘I was afraid if you knew the truth – you'd leave me.'

God help me. That has the ring of truth!

It was Severin's gentle resignation that caused her to crack. He gently stroked her hair. ‘I will try to find any trace of her grave, Vianna. That at least would be some comfort, my love.'

Vianna stared at him, trying to deny the words that seemed to scatter in her mind like confetti in the wind. Until in a sudden surge of anger, she slapped the false, sad expression from his face.

Blinded by rage, she did not even care that she had just made a terrible blunder. Pain heightened Severin's lust. She tried to push him away. Took a step towards the door but faltered. She saw Severin glance at her champagne glass with an apologetic shrug, ‘Yes, my dear!'

The oriental carpet seemed to falter beneath her feet, stretching, growing in size, changing to colours that bedazzled her. The door panels rippled, floating under water like the cabin of a sinking ship . . .

Severin's smiling mouth was growing wider, his teeth now slightly pointed like the mouth of a handsome wolf . . . he was laughing softly as she fell headlong into his arms . . . she heard him whispering in her ear as he lifted her onto the bed . . .

‘Sweet dreams, Vianna . . . champagne and gentle white laudanum are just what we need to make this a night to remember . . . we can do anything our imagination desires . . .'

•  •  •

The night had lost all dimension in time and space . . . the hours bled into each other along veins of darkness and candlelight . . . sounds magnified, distorted . . . textures shape-shifting, at a master's sleight of hand.

Vianna lay naked and unresisting across the bed. Severin's body smelled of wine, incense, pomade, sweat and something else beyond her experience . . . he loomed over her, smiling, teasing, practising on her body whatever pleased him, using her, degrading her . . . all in the name of his undying love . . . a word that from his lips sounded like some foreign obscenity.

In time that she could not measure, he grew frustrated at her lack of response. Smacked her face back and forth, his large, heavy dress ring cutting her cheek so that she tasted the trail of blood running
down between her lips. Physical pain came in waves that he promised would heighten her senses – pleasure that never came . . . pain was only a fragment compared to the disgust she felt when he whispered words of tenderness.

‘Forgive me if I hurt you . . . you've been a bad girl . . . I'll make it up to you . . .'

On her gradual return to consciousness she saw Severin on all fours, bent over her, strapped to his thighs a silver phallus that he thrust into her so violently that she passed out . . . Much later she found herself pinned under the weight of his body, exhausted in sleep. Unable to move, she tried to lose herself in the starry night sky to escape the hours until dawn . . .

•  •  •

Was it the sound of the cock crowing . . . or was it Wanda who woke her? The girl's luminous dark eyes were expressionless, like a stranger, when she stood guard over Severin's body as he lay across the bed in a stupor, wine trickling from his open mouth.

Vianna obeyed her like a child, grabbed hold of her clothes, her boots in hand as she stumbled barefoot down the stairs. Wanda locked the door of Severin's bedchamber behind them.

At the front entrance Wanda hugged her briefly then pushed her out the door with the warning. ‘Run and keep running!'

Vianna's face was so bruised she could barely form the words. ‘You're not safe here with him. Come with me.'

Wanda shook her head. ‘Severin wouldn't dare touch me. I'm under James Dalby's Protection. He's kind to me. I'm kind to his wife, Jeannie. I could do a lot worse. Now go, I beg you.'

Vianna picked up her boots and ran across the little grass island of Charlotte Place. The clock on the castellated tower of St Phillips's Church struck seven. Church bells began to peel to invite the faithful to worship.

Vianna ran – and kept on running wherever the road led her . . .

•  •  •

The town water pump in the centre of the market place produced a thin trickle of water from the Tank Stream. Vianna used what little strength she had to pump the handle and hold her head under it, feeling the blessed relief of cold water stinging her bruised face. She
had a desperate urge to wash her body free of Severin's degradation, but the Tank Stream was muddy, running scantily after the drought . . . an absurd, hazy thought came to her that anyone caught bathing in public would be arrested.

She had barely enough energy and sense of direction to make her way through the streets . . . numb and uncaring that well-dressed church-goers shied from her path . . . that men leered at her . . . A drunken marine from some foreign navy whose words were alien but his coin an unmistakable invitation, offered it brazenly . . .

Church bells rang all over Sydney Town. She followed blindly the swooping patterns of scarlet, green and purple parrots . . . hoping like a lost child that somehow these rosellas would lead her home . . . wherever that was . . .

At last she recognised the sign swinging over the doorway of a shanty that never closed except on Sunday. The sign of The Jolly Roger showed the head of a pirate, his black tricorn hat above a red scarf and gold earring, leering down at all who entered.

Vianna looked into the pirate's single blue eye, its twin hidden by an eye patch, and said sincerely, ‘Thank you!' knowing she was within range of Little Rockingham Street.

She had barely knocked on the door of the house she recognised before she collapsed on the doorstep. Jane Quayle flung open the door, gasped and led her inside.

Jane asked no questions. Without a word she gave her a herbal drink, then closed the door of the room where Toby lay sleeping. She gently stripped off Vianna's clothes, her face tight and expressionless as she bathed her face, covering her bruises with herbal balm.

When Jane began to uncover the lower part of her body to bathe her, Vianna instinctively covered her hairless mound of Venus, averting her eyes in shame and horror.

Jane spoke for the first time. ‘Tell me one thing, girl. Did you invite the man who did this to you?'

Vianna's wild cry of denial sounded like a wounded animal. She gripped Jane's arm with her last remaining strength. ‘I swear on my life, I did not willingly lay with the man who did this. Mungo must never know! Promise me, promise me!'

Jane looked at her coolly. ‘You have my solemn promise. Not just
for your sake. Mungo would kill the man who did this to you. And swing for it.'

At last Vianna's tears came, soft, bitter, drained of all hope.

‘Thank you from my heart. But I can't lie to you. I can't marry Mungo. He's a good man – he deserves far better than me.'

Jane's voice softened. ‘That's tomorrow's problem, girl. I'll help you up the ladder to your own bed. Stay there and don't dare move. I'll bring food to you and tend your wounds. I won't let anyone near you – until at least your face is healed. Come now, before Toby wakes.'

Jane tried to support her, but there was hardly a part of Vianna's body that was not painful, so Jane followed her rung by rung up the ladder and eased her into bed.

Jane returned with a strange-smelling herbal drink and asked the question matter-of-factly. ‘Tell me the truth, girl. Have you any reason to believe you might be with child to Mungo?'

Vianna vehemently shook her head.

‘Then drink this down in one unbroken draft,' she said and padded towels around Vianna's naked thighs. ‘You may bleed heavily. Or not. But one thing is certain. You'll not be with child. No woman should be forced to bear a babe conceived in rape.'

Jane darkened the room then disappeared down the ladder and locked the door behind her.

Vianna's eyes burned with salty tears and she turned her face to the wall. She accepted the bitter truth. She would never bear a child – now or ever. As she fell asleep she clung to her last faint hope.

Severin . . . was he lying . . . or telling the truth? Is Daisy alive . . . or lying in some unmarked grave? Severin is a proven liar . . . so why should I believe him now? Yet one thing held the ring of truth . . . if I had known Daisy had died three years ago, I
would
have left him . . .

‘Nothing short of my own funeral will keep me away from Father's birthday celebration. I'll be there if I have to crawl downstairs on my hands and knees, Mutti. I'll be damned if I'll allow Mungo to make the speeches – that's
my
role!'

Seated by her son's bedside, Albruna L'Estrange tried to hide a smile. ‘You are sounding as if you are almost returned to full health, Felix. A good sign. Do you wish to dictate any letters for me to write on your behalf?'

‘Thank you, no. There's no need.'

I can hardly dictate to Mother the love letters to Vianna I'm writing in my head. My damned influenza's kept us apart. I know nothing about her mystery illness.