The Lace Balcony Read online

  Aware that his mother had the sharp eye of a sergeant major for any signs of irregularities in his dress, Felix ruefully checked his appearance from every angle in the mirror. Naked I look younger than my twenty-one years. But despite Nathan Bloom’s perfect tailoring, this tailcoat and trousers add decades to my age – I feel like Atlas carrying the weight of the world on my back.

  Felix resolutely squared his shoulders, ready to enter the fray, then exited his room, locking the door, and secured the key in his vest pocket. His personal chambers were sacrosanct. No assigned servant was permitted to touch his papers, books or heavenly charts.

  Albruna L’Estrange was waiting for him in her music room, tapping her fingernails on the mahogany side table as if mentally keeping time with the metronome she used when teaching the pianoforte to some assigned servant’s child. This morning she was dressed in a plum-coloured silk gown, the lace at her throat pinned with the ornate brooch she reserved for special occasions. At its heart, outlined in gold, was the miniature coat of arms of her Prussian ancestors.

  Felix made a formal bow. ‘Good morning, Mother. I trust I find you well this morning?’

  ‘Well enough. I was kept awake half the night by the sound of your father’s coughing. You might care to check on his health after you’ve taken breakfast.’

  Felix knew exactly what this implied. Mother had lain awake distantly hearing her husband’s suffering but was too proud to cross the Bridge of Sighs to his bedside, bitterly aware that when ill her husband summoned the Manx herbalist whom she considered a witch and would not name. No matter the time of day or night, when summoned by his father, Jane Quayle hurried from her tiny cottage at the far end of the garden, armed with a basket of herbs to cosset and pacify her master.

  Felix tried to show genuine sympathy. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to take a rest from your charity work, Mother. I shall reassure Father that I have all the accounts up to date. We are concerned that this two-year drought shows no sign of abatement. We have suffered a significant loss of cattle and sheep in our holdings far beyond the limits of settlement. But I assure you I stand ready to take over any additional duties you may require.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. You are an admirable son – in matters of family duty. But I wish to discuss your social duty. You must be seen to take your place in society, Felix. For far too long – since that terrible business in court and the innuendo in the newspapers – you have hidden yourself away.’

  ‘Believe me, Mother, I am quite content with my life as it is.’ Thank God she doesn’t know the truth.

  ‘Be that as it may, I am not content. There is no need for the L’Estrange son and heir to shun society, like some recluse. It invites gossip. Even implies a taint of guilt. Family honour has been preserved, thank the Lord.’

  ‘Indeed, I do thank Him. But we also owe our thanks to the late William Eden and to Mungo Quayle for assuming the name Sean O’Connor to avoid any public link to our family’s involvement in their disgrace, do we not?’

  ‘I need no reminder of that fact, Felix,’ she responded sharply. ‘As you know, a sum of money is sent each quarter to Eden’s widowed mother in England. I also read the reports your father receives from that Scottish physician at Moreton Bay. Sean O’Connor seems to have spent more time in solitary confinement than a monk!’

  She can’t even bring herself to say Mungo’s name! Felix refrained from rushing to his defence, which would likely defeat his purpose. ‘But it seems he has settled down now, assigned to Dr Gordon. I would be more than pleased to sail to Moreton Bay as a volunteer to check on Mungo’s welfare.’

  ‘Nonsense. Your place is here. Your father’s health remains uncertain. I cannot manage his estate alone if . . . his health should decline.’

  He noted her usual avoidance of any hint of the L’Estrange name being tainted by the social stigma of trade, but Felix was surprised by the slight tremor in her voice. I wonder how much Mother loved him when she arrived here as his bride. Her miniature portrait at sixteen shows she was a real Nordic beauty. Her face is still handsome, but marred by bitterness. Her fault, or Father’s? Who am I to judge? I’ve never been in love. If only Father would place that miniature on show – it would salvage something of Mother’s pride.

  As if to counter the emotion she had betrayed, Albruna changed the subject. ‘My plans today are twofold. I go to hit two flies with one swatter.’

  It continued to surprise Felix that after some twenty-five years’ residence in a British colony, where his mother had little chance to speak her mother tongue, she retained a distinct accent and when agitated slipped into German speech patterns. Felix smiled. ‘In English we say, “to kill two birds with one stone”.’

  ‘It is the same thing,’ she said impatiently. ‘I am invited to take tea at Government House – not here, their summer retreat at Parramatta. Her Excellency is a most amiable friend and something of a Germanophile. So of course we have much in common. Mrs Darling is most interested in my work for the welfare of female convicts and regarding the appalling number of children abandoned on the streets.’

  ‘Work for which you are much admired,’ Felix said, hoping to steer the conversation back to his objective and away from the subject he knew was imminent. His mother was not to be deterred.

  ‘The L’Estranges are an old and honourable family – as is my own. By the end of the week I feel sure your name will begin to appear on vice-regal invitation lists.’

  ‘I regret I simply do not have the time, Mother,’ Felix said quickly.

  ‘Nonsense! You have no trouble making time to gaze at the stars! It is far more important to circulate amongst suitable young ladies of our rank. For instance, the Governor’s Colonial Secretary, Alexander McLeay, still has five unmarried daughters for whom he must provide dowries. We are not seeking a dowry of course. But all are most accomplished, well-bred and charming, and the younger ones are close to your age.’

  His silence was eloquent. She leaned forward to read his expression. ‘You do not wish to remain a bachelor for life, I trust? It is simply a matter of your shyness with young ladies, is it not?’

  ‘Indeed, Mother. I am not as shy as you think me. But I find it painful trying to make polite conversation with giggling females who seem devoid of all interest in matters affecting the Colony. I would prefer to select a wife when the time is right.’

  ‘The right time is right now, Felix.’

  Felix refused to be cornered. ‘You mentioned two plans, Mother. What is your other objective, may I ask?’

  ‘I shall raise the subject of the prisoner O’Connor to Her Excellency, Mrs. Darling.’

  At last. Thank you, Lord. Felix smiled in relief. ‘I knew Father and I could count on you to do the right thing, Mother.’

  ‘At Government House I shall also present myself to His Excellency’s Private Secretary, I am forgetting his name. I understand he is some member of the Darling family – aren’t they all!’

  Felix was anxious that his outspoken mother not put a foot wrong. ‘Allow me to brief you, Mother. It is important.’

  ‘You expect me to step in the grease bowl, yes?’ she snapped.

  Yet another of her German proverbs. It is quite touching the way Mother clings to her traditions.

  ‘No, I am not afraid you will put your foot in your mouth. But remember, a young man’s fate is in your hands.’

  ‘I know my duty.’

  ‘Mrs Darling may well be your friend. But Governor Darling does not give his trust lightly. He has surrounded himself with family connections. His Private Secretary is his brother-in-law, Henry Dumaresq, Mrs Darling’s brother. Another brother, William Dumaresq, is the Governor’s Civil Engineer – married to the daughter of Darling’s Colonial Secretary. The Governor has also appointed his nephew Charles Darling as his Assistant Private Secretary. So you see, he chooses to appoint members of his family to key positions – in order to protect himself.’

  She gasped. ‘Don’t tell me someone wishes to shoo
t him?’

  ‘No, Mother, His Excellency has no need to live in fear of assassination – this is a British colony, not some European state.’

  ‘How can I ever forget this?’ she asked huffily.

  ‘It is important for you to remember that any note of implied criticism would go straight to the ear of the Governor.’

  Albruna threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘So, you do think me the fool, Felix?’

  ‘Of course not, Mother. But forewarned is forearmed. When you meet Governor Darling’s Private Secretary – I presume you intend to present him with . . . ?’

  ‘Yes, yes, yet another of your Father’s petitions about Sean O’Connor. None have succeeded in securing a shorter sentence. But I shall do my duty. Your father’s wish is my command.’

  Felix knew this was far from the truth, but he was quick to express his gratitude. ‘In what way may I assist you, Mutti?’

  His use of this childhood name for her drew forth a faint smile that softened her face.

  ‘You will accompany me in the carriage to Parramatta. I have arranged for you to visit the Governor’s observatory.’

  ‘How wonderful, I have longed for years to see it. Do you know it was built by Governor Brisbane, who appointed one of your countrymen as the Colony’s first Government Astronomer? Christian Carl Ludwig Rümker – a remarkable man. I have copies of his astronomical observations – it was he who rediscovered Encke’s Comet.’

  Albruna gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, I thought that would awaken your interest. But there’s no time to lose. Arrange for the carriage to be brought around within the hour. The miles to Parramatta seem longer each journey. Mein Gott, may the Governor soon be granted funds by the British Government to build him a new Government House here in Sydney Town. And save his citizens from the need to trek for miles simply to partake of a cup of English tea.’

  Felix bowed and took his leave, aware that this was his mother’s odd way of minimising the importance of a journey that she knew was uppermost in their minds. He suspected her sudden action was driven by shocking recent revelations by two Moreton Bay prisoners at their Sydney trial, in which they admitted to murdering a fellow prisoner, knowing they would be returned to Sydney to be hanged – a fate preferable to the hell of Moreton Bay.

  After Felix ordered the carriage to be brought around from the livery stables at Little Rockingham Street at the rear of their estate, he hurried upstairs to his father’s bedside in the mansion adjoining his mother’s. Confident of his welcome he entered the chamber without ceremony.

  Kentigern L’Estrange sat propped up in bed, cushioned by a sea of pillows, his crest of rich white hair riffled by the breeze through the open window. The left side of his face and body remained handsome and mobile. The right was contorted in a caricature of the man he had once been, one side of his mouth caught in a grimace at an angle that made speech difficult to decipher except to the very few, like Felix, who had the patience to break the code. With the speed and authority of an orchestra conductor, his father used his free hand to direct people and convey his instructions.

  On Felix’s entrance the new servant girl blinked rapidly at him, then rose and scurried away without needing to be dismissed. He barely noticed her, a thirteen year old with straggling, nut brown hair, her peaky features and undersized frame similar to those of many convicts’ children. No doubt the new cook, Mrs Baker, would fatten up her daughter, if only to obtain a full day’s work to meet the exacting standards of her mistress.

  Before Felix had time to greet his father and convey his good news, Kentigern L’Estrange barked a welcome. Felix had learned his lesson well; to avoid paternal wrath he must translate each and every word precisely.

  ‘I understood you to say, “Has your dragon of a mother agreed to do what I damned well asked of her?”’ He paused. ‘Is that correct, Father?’

  His father nodded his approval of the accuracy of the translation.

  Felix sat on the bedside and took his father’s claw-like hand between his own, trying to conceal a smile, out of respect for his mother.

  ‘I cannot endorse your description of a maternal dragon, Father, but I do come bearing good news. Today Mother shall present your petition to His Excellency concerning the prisoner at Moreton Bay. You do understand the significance of the name, Sean O’Connor, do you not, Father?’

  The response was an angry, discordant stream of sound.

  Felix was quick to reassure him. ‘Forgive me. Yes, I do realise only your speech is affected – not your brain.’

  His father grabbed the lapels of Felix’s coat and stared intently into his face, desperate to form a single word.

  Felix patted the other claw-like hand. ‘Promise you? Yes, Father. I give you my solemn oath. I will never rest until Mungo Quayle returns from Moreton Bay – a free man.’

  God help me. I made that same promise to Jane Quayle. That makes me doubly damned if I don’t succeed.

  Felix continued, giving the names he had sought to aid their petition. ‘Your fellow Masons have responded to a man. Your old friend Captain John Piper has written from his Alloway Bank estate to say he will endorse our cause. He may be in reduced circumstances but his name still carries weight with those in authority . . . Major James Dalby? No word as yet, Father. It appears he is still out of favour with the Colonial Office – since those rumours about convict immorality at Emu Plains. Like Sir John Jamieson, Dalby is an ardent theatre lover and supports the Emu Plains convict theatre. As you know, Darling has banned all theatre performances in Sydney – so they have precious little common ground.’

  To please his father, Felix resurrected memories of Mungo as a child, sobered by the unexpected rush of emotion these tales aroused in the telling. Felix wondered was his half-brother still the same daredevil brother-at-arms he had always been? A weaver of dreams and lies whom Felix half admired, half distrusted. Or had his years under Logan’s iron rule destroyed whatever good remained in him?

  What price would Mungo pay to stay alive? Has he, like Faust, sold his soul to the Devil? From birth Mungo and I were programmed by our mothers to be rivals for Father’s affections. But what if our positions were reversed? What if I had been the one sentenced to four years’ hard labour at Moreton Bay? Would Mungo Quayle be fighting for my release? Or would he use this time to ingratiate himself in Father’s eyes – and claim my inheritance for himself?

  Felix was resigned to not knowing the answer. The trouble with Mungo was, there was no way to predict which way he would jump – on the side of good or the side of evil. To Mungo these were simply two sides of the same coin. I can count on Mungo Quayle for one thing only. He will always choose whichever side offers him the most exciting adventure.

  Anxious that he had tired his father, Felix went to take his leave.

  Kentigern’s eyes flew open and barked a final question. Felix coloured, unsure if his father was testing him or teasing him.

  ‘Yes, Father, the Corsican widow at our Foveaux Street property is still paying her rent on time. Mrs Navarro is nothing if not punctual, Sir.’

  Felix turned in the doorway. ‘But to put your mind at rest, I shall call on her tomorrow, on your behalf. Is there anything else you want, Father?’

  There was no mistaking the order. ‘Send for Jane Quayle!’

  Chapter 8

  Mungo’s spirits spiralled skywards the moment his iron shackles were removed. Dr Gordon, the man responsible for this temporary symbol of liberation, stood on the veranda of his cabin watching Mungo’s approach with a smile of triumph.

  ‘Thanks, Doc. No need to worry I’ll make a bolt for it. But don’t be surprised if a strong breeze blows me away.’

  His assigned master nodded sagely. ‘Aye, ye deserve it, lad. The first step to freedom – who knows, that may be closer than you think.’

  Mungo was quick to seize the clue. ‘You know something I don’t, Doc?’

  ‘You’ll be the first to know. But it’s fair to say that the L’Estrange fami
ly have whipped up support for you in high places. So don’t put a foot wrong. Another red shirt would wreck your chances.’

  Mungo gave a wry grin at his use of the convict slang for flogging. ‘You can count on me, Doc. I wasn’t named Mungo after St Kentigern for nothing.’

  Jesus, now I’ve blown my cover. He’ll guess my relationship to Father.

  Dr Gordon weighed Mungo’s words but passed over them.

  ‘Aye. Time to load the pack horses, Sean,’ he said and returned to the cabin.

  Grateful to be called by his alias, Mungo packed up the tools for their fieldwork in double-quick time and gave him a mock military salute.

  ‘All ready and accounted for, Sir – except for the fowling piece.’

  The doctor climbed into the saddle and threw him a meaningful look.

  ‘We won’t have much need for one. You’ve been boasting about how you can live off the land like a native. The time has come to put your money where your mouth is.’

  Mungo’s smile faded but he quickly recovered. ‘You won’t go hungry, Doc.’

  The sun was already beginning to toast the doctor’s pale skin, despite his shady bush hat, by the time they reached the outskirts of the newly built Female Factory along the river in the Brisbane Town part of the penal settlement.

  ‘I’ll say one thing for Logan,’ Gordon said ruefully, ‘in less than four years his building program has turned Moreton Bay into a model penal settlement – at least in terms of its buildings.’

  Mungo nodded in silence but his thoughts ran contrary. No wonder Logan’s a golden boy in Darling’s eyes. But it’s little wonder he got the place up and running, given his free labour force of six hundred of us – ruled by the lash.