The Lace Balcony (57 page)

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On arrival at Rockingham Hall, Mungo showed Toby where the water closet was and where to wash his hands. He placed their gift on the hall table.

‘You can give this to Mr L'Estrange
after
Felix has given him his present. I'll give you a nudge when the time is right. Now let's go upstairs and wish Mr L'Estrange happy birthday.'

Mungo wanted to introduce them privately before the guests arrived and with luck pick up a clue to what his father knew about Toby's parentage.

Toby was enchanted by the Bridge of Sighs and pressed his nose against the glass walls to look down into the garden. ‘Where's the water for the boats?' Toby asked, naturally assuming a bridge crossed over water.

‘There's been a bit of a drought, mate. When the rains come again we'll get a sailing boat and you can sail under the bridge,' he said with a wink.

Toby understood, but preferred the fantasy. ‘Can I be captain?'

‘You can be a pirate captain, if you want.'

‘Captain Toby Navarro.'

Mungo hesitated. ‘Mrs Quayle's father was captain of his own fishing boat.'

I wish I could tell him the man was his grandfather. But we'll never know.

All seemed to be going to plan until they reached the corridor leading to his father's quarters. Mungo sensed something had gone terribly amiss when he heard overlapping shouts from two voices and a third voice attempting to placate them.

He propelled Toby to a seat at the end of the corridor.

‘Sit here, mate and hold tight till I call you.'

The moment Mungo entered his father's bedchamber there was
no doubt about the cause of the broadsides being fired between his father and Mrs L'Estrange. He saw from Felix's expression that his half-brother felt trapped in another of the scenes he had been forced to witness all his life.

‘I can see you're busy,' Mungo said and prepared to back from the room until Kentigern signalled for him to remain. From that moment on it was as though he and Felix were virtually invisible, like theatrical supernumeraries in a scene between two opera singers locked in mortal combat in the final act of a tragic opera.

Mungo and Felix backed against the wall, out of firing range.

Propped on a chair in the centre of the room and covered by a linen cloth was the package Mungo had delivered that afternoon. Albruna's gloved hand gestured to it in defiance, but her eyes held a touch of vulnerability that she seldom revealed.

‘Happy Birthday, Kentigern. I trust my gift will speak for itself.'

‘You know damned well I detest surprises, woman – especially when I have to foot the bill for them,' her husband barked, then jerked off the cloth to reveal her gift.

Mungo was stunned. Felix gave an audible gasp. Kentigern turned scarlet, his mouth tight, his eyes unnaturally bright. ‘What in God's name have you done, Albruna?' he demanded.

Revealed in all its shocking glory was the portrait of a beautiful woman. Her smile was as mysterious and bewitching as a modern Mona Lisa. Candlelight highlighted her face, her gown, the ostrich feather fan trailing from one elegant hand. Everything about the portrait was luminous – her blonde hair, the creamy complexion of her face and the bare shoulders rising above a foam of ivory lace that framed her full bosom. Pearl drops hung from her ears, a brooch was pinned at her breast, but it was the thick gold wedding ring that was captured in the light of the portrait's candelabra – an exact replica of the candelabra here in the room.

There was nothing overtly sensual in the portrait – it was her eyes that betrayed her. To Mungo there could be no mistake. It was the face of Albruna L'Estrange seen through the eyes of a lover. The face in the portrait looked at them, unafraid of the world's censure, a beautiful woman ready to take her lover to bed. Her enigmatic smile suggested that this would not be the first time.

Mungo caught Felix's eye and made a discreet gesture towards the door. Felix's answering shrug indicated there was no point – they were both a captive audience, invisible spectators.

Kentigern could not contain his rage. ‘This is scandalous! You have shamed me!' He took a step towards her then faltered, surprised that she held her ground.

‘
I
have shamed
you
?' she asked, dangerously calm.

‘You are my
wife
!' he roared.

‘How could I ever forget? I am being bound by that title for thirty years since I came here as a bride of sixteen.'

‘Who is the artist? The man's a scoundrel. I will call him out!'

‘You will do no such thing. Jean-Baptiste Bonnard is a young man of honour.'

Kentigern almost choked on the words. ‘A man of honour? That Frog is notorious for painting half-naked whores like that Venus courtesan!'

Felix rolled his eyes in horror. Mungo now knew the whole story.

For once in her life Abruna L'Estrange has thumbed her nose at society's rules. But
why?
Is this pure revenge – or something else?

Her retort was icy. ‘Even a blind man can see I was fully clothed.'

‘You are that rogue's mistress – it is written all over your face!'

He pointed at the portrait and his voice shook, slurring his words.

‘He's portrayed you as a – a woman he lusts after – and takes to his bed.'

Albruna gave a dismissive shrug. ‘What do you expect? He's young, an artist. It is being an insult for a Frenchman to make any woman feel undesirable. It meant nothing. Pure Gallic gallantry.'

‘Admit it! You are his mistress. Damn you, Albruna, I forbid you to lie to me!'

There was a long silence before she answered. ‘Better I am being a loved mistress than an unloved wife . . . as no doubt Jane Quayle would agree.'

The silence was electric. Mungo saw that his father had the grace to look guilty. When at last he spoke his voice held a note of defeat.

‘Why did you do this to me? Tonight of all nights?'

‘I want to remind you who I
am
, who I
was
. That I loved my English cousin from the moment I first saw you when I am twelve
years old. And despite all these years you have rejected me . . . As we say in Prussia, “old love does not rust.”'

Kentigern suddenly floundered. ‘I am not proud of what I have done to you. But did you need to betray me publicly – like
this
?'

Her eyes grew cold. ‘So. That is your true concern. Scandal. Be assured, no one in society will ever know. I have arranged to return to Prussia. Felix may visit me if he so wishes. I shall never return to this Colony.'

‘So, it's all arranged. That Bonnard blackguard is travelling with you!'

Albruna shrugged. ‘Whatever happens in the future is of no consequence. Do what you will. I go downstairs to welcome our guests.'

Mungo admired the way she held her head high as she passed Felix and Mungo without a flicker of recognition.

‘What a woman!' Mungo said under his breath without thinking.

Felix stammered. ‘May I remind you that woman is my mother!'

‘It's going to be a long night, Felix. Let's pull together for once, shall we?'

Mungo held out his hand to meet the hand Felix offered him.

They gave their father time to regain his composure before facing him.

Mungo took the lead. ‘I've something important to say, Father. I'm asking you to hear me out.'

‘You have my permission,' Kentigern replied stiffly.

‘All my life, there have been two women in your life. I've been biased towards one – and biased
against
the other. So I reckon if I tell you the truth, you're man enough to take it on the chin, right?'

Kentigern's eyes narrowed. ‘Out with it.'

‘I reckon this portrait wasn't painted as an act of revenge. It was to show you what you'll lose if your wife leaves you. I don't know if there was an affair of the heart or not – none of my business. But for once I think Felix and I are of one mind.'

Felix stood by his side, shoulder to shoulder in silent agreement.

Mungo eyed his father unflinchingly. ‘We refuse to stand by and watch you humiliate Felix's mother in front of her family and friends. This painting is going to be hung downstairs – even if it's only for one
night. And you, Father, are going to praise the artist's work and your wife's beauty – and publicly thank her for her gift.'

Mungo raised his voice and rode over his father's roar of protest.

‘And if you
don't –
you're no damned father of mine!'

‘Or mine!' said Felix. ‘I shall return to Prussia to live with Mother.'

Mungo exchanged a glance with Felix in the taut silence that followed.

To conceal his wounded pride the L'Estrange patriarch waved a dismissive hand at the painting. ‘Take it downstairs. See you handle it with care. No doubt the damned thing cost me a fortune.'

Cockney George stood tall and arrogant in his new gold-trimmed livery, about to pour the wine. Mungo declined. He intended to restrict himself to the single glass needed to toast King, Country and whatever else Felix, as master of ceremonies, had lined up. He was conscious that tonight he must set Toby a good example by drinking lemonade from the crystal jug placed within easy reach.

Mungo knew the family's assigned servants were no threat to the class of servants born to service in Europe, but he could see that tonight they were doing their very best to perform well, alert for subtle clues from the mistress of the house. Albruna was charming and attentive to all her guests, particularly Toby. Determined to put the boy at ease, she praised him to all, especially her husband, seated at the far end of the table.

‘This young gentleman, Toby, is a most promising young musician. He is learning so quickly, I suspect he is being like the young Mozart, a child prodigy.'

There were murmurs of interest at the extravagant compliment but Toby's anxious question carried the length of the table. ‘What's a projijy, Mungo?”

Kentigern took the answer upon himself. ‘A very, very clever boy who loves music, Toby. And Mrs L'Estrange does not hand out compliments lightly. She
always
tells the truth.'

His pause hung suspended in the air for a moment but only his wife and sons recognised the underlying ambiguity. He turned to address Toby. ‘I would welcome hearing you play for me one day, Master Toby, if you will?'

Toby nodded gravely. ‘I will, Sir.'

Kentigern studied the boy so keenly that Mungo was startled by the idea he might be searching for some L'Estrange family resemblance.

‘We gentlemen are often accused of taking ladies for granted. I must plead guilty to the charge. I have never spoken publicly of this before. It is high time I did.'

Albruna stiffened and Felix shot Mungo a look of alarm.

‘As you know, my wife is admired at all levels of society for her work concerning women and children at the Benevolent Asylum. But she is no mere figurehead. Few are aware of her visits to The Factory and courts of law to rescue children trapped by vices that are their sole means of survival. I wish to acknowledge my wife has brought honour to the L'Estrange name.'

Albruna inclined her head in silent response to his unexpected words.

Mungo was equally surprised.
If I hadn't witnessed their brawl an hour ago, I'd think it was a marriage made in heaven.

He could not help but admire how these two seasoned warriors were faking a fine performance as the perfect host and hostess. Smiling and animated, they drew anecdotes from Dr Gordon and their oldest friends, Magistrate Kennedy and his wife, the best man and bridesmaid at their wedding.

Timid Mary Kennedy, grown confident with wine, was eager to share her memories. ‘The bride was barely sixteen, as lovely as a princess, but the most nervous bride I have ever seen. When the priest asked the traditional question, “Do you Albruna Dorothea take Kentigern George to be your lawful wedded husband?” the bride was so nervous she gave her response in German! Then blushed like a rose. The priest was deaf so he continued the service quite oblivious to her gaff.'

The jovial Magistrate took up the story. ‘I was Kentigern's Best Man. After the ceremony the bride came to me in a state of high anxiety, afraid that her mistake made the wedding null and void under English law!'

All present, except Kentigern, laughed in sympathy with the naïve bride.

Mary Kennedy smiled benignly, ‘You were so innocent, but determined to do the correct thing, my dear.'

‘Indeed, Albruna can always be relied upon to behave immaculately.'

This time Kentigern's dart was so marked, Mungo sent Felix the silent message.
Don't let Father off the hook.

Sandy Gordon must have sensed the growing tension because he filled the breach with a colourful account of the unique fauna
and flora on the remote island of St Helena in the Tristan da Cunha group, where he was stranded when his vessel was forced to break its voyage to Australia and return to Rio for repairs.

Mungo enjoyed Sandy's tales and tonight he was in fine story-telling mode, his Scottish burr growing more pronounced each time his wineglass was filled. Toby sat open-mouthed, enchanted by the descriptions of weird animals. Mungo was relieved that everyone appeared to accept the boy's presence at face value – except Felix, who was casting curious sidelong glances at him.

While Toby was held captive by Sandy's tales, Felix ventured an aside. ‘I received an extraordinary letter from
our mutual friend
at Foveaux Street, concerning my possible link . . .' He glanced at Toby. ‘But there's no way to prove it.'

Mungo was annoyed that Maria had involved Felix. ‘Yeah, it's a wise son that knows its own father. No way we'll ever know. But Maria asked
me
to take him. He's
my
responsibility.'