The Gallant (49 page)

we’ll have to forget you were one of the “Joes” we used to do battle with!”

“We could start by you two calling me Luke.”

“Very good-Luke it is, then. I’m Angus and my brother’s Lachlan-Lachie for

short.”

Luke embarked on his story, and Michael listened in astonished silence as his partner told of the trial that had taken place

William Stuart Long

at the diggers’ camp in the Sacramento Valley some seven years ago. On the strength of irrefutable evidence, the man who had called himself Jasper Morgan had been tried in his absence on a charge of murder and condemned to death.

“I came out here in search of him,” Luke told them quietly. “And it was quite a dance he led me, always one step ahead of me, changing his name when it suited him. He was in Sydney, then in the New South Wales goldfields, and finally he came here, to Victoria… dis8He talked on, but Michael, lulled by the heat of the fire and his own weariness, drifted to sleep, hearing only snatches of what the other three were saying. But it was an odd coincidence, he reflected, that both he and Luke Murphy should have come to the state of Victoria on a manhunt, only to find the object of their search taken from them at the hands of others. Jasper Morgan had been shot by one of the rebel diggers from the Eureka Stockade, and John Price had died, in the prison of which he was in charge, when a gang of the convicts he had mistreated had turned on him and hacked him to death, in what the Geelong

Gazette

had described as “an attack of dreadful savagery.”

Rafaello Carboni had been pardoned, according to Angus Broome, but the seven wretched convicts who had taken Price’s life were-if the Gazette

were to be believed-to pay for their crime with their lives … as he would have been called upon to do, Michael thought somberly, had his quest been successful.

He was aroused by the sound of a woman’s voice and opened sleep-dimmed eyes to see that the station owner and his wife had joined them. They were a pleasant, kindly couple. Mrs. Broome, whom her husband addressed as Dodie, was slim and dark-eyed, with a ready smile and a quick, alert manner, which belied the evidence of her graying hair and the lines on her still-attractive face.

William Broome, whom he judged

to be in his late fifties, was short-only an inch or two taller than his wife-and of sturdy build, with a luxuriant white beard and a pair of shrewd gray eyes. A man, Michael had decided, who would not be easily deceived and who might be expected to resent any attempt to pull the wool over his eyes. But-impelled by an instinct he had supposed long forgotten, Michael got to his feet-he wondered

whether William Broome had already seen through the guise he had adopted. An Irish immigrant, lured by gold fever and newly arrived in the country-would his story for long hold water? Perhaps it would, if their stay were short and he and Luke resumed their journey when the weather moderated. But …

Glimpsing his reflection in a mirror that hung on the wall opposite, Michael was conscious of a nagging doubt.

The face that looked back at him was so deeply tanned, the big body so muscular from the years of stone-breaking and heavy toil, that no one could have supposed him to be a gentleman, that was certain. But a “new chum,” fresh from the Irish bogs, who claimed to have been a peasant farmer-perhaps that was stretching credulity too far. And there was his voice. He had never tried to disguise his voice or pretend that he was uneducated; on Norfolk Island, because it had provoked Price’s ire, he had deliberately retained the voice and manners bred in him from childhood, and Price’s floggings had not eradicated them. He would keep a still tongue in his head, Michael thought; he would listen but say little, and perhaps, God willing, it would not occur to his hosts that they were offering hospitality to a convict on the run.

It did not appear to have occurred to Mrs. Broome, at all events, for, turning from one to the other of them, she said graciously, “Our evening meal is ready, if you would both care to partake of it with us. And there is a member of the family whom you haven’t met-our adopted daughter, Jane. Sadly, she is deaf and dumb, but she is able to read lips, provided she can see them clearly. So if you talk to her, be so good as to turn to her when you speak.”

She beckoned and a small, slight girl of about seventeen or eighteen emerged shyly from the passageway at her back and came to stand beside her, smiling uncertainly. She was startlingly lovely, Michael saw, a blue-eyed vision with delicate features and softly curling ash-blond hair. For some reason, she reminded him of little Prudence Meldrum, although there was no physical resemblance, beyond an impression of vulnerability, perhaps. Without thinking, he bowed when Mrs. Broome introduced him and then, seeing the girl’s eyes widen in bewilderment, cursed himself for a witless idiot.

William Stuart Long

However, no one else had noticed the bow. Luke shook her hand, and the two Broome boys were eagerly telling their father of Luke’s acquaintance with their er/while partner, which effectively distracted his attention.

“It is the most extraordinary coincidence, Dad,” Angus said. “We knew that Humphrey was a strange fellow, but until Luke told us what he had done in America before he came out here, I’d no idea he was such a deep-dyed villain.

Mind, I did not like him or trust him, when he got me arrested after the Eureka Hotel was burnt down, but …”

Over dinner-a substantial and well-cooked meal-talk continued about the Eureka Stockade affair, and in the course of conversation it emerged that both Mr. and Mrs. Broome had known the parents of the wife Luke had so tragically lost.

“Rick Tempest and Katie-why, of course I knew them well,” William Broome declared.

He traced the relationship, with his wife’s aid, and Michael, to whom all those they spoke of so nostalgically were unknown, was enabled to maintain a discreet silence without seeming in any way discourteous. Mrs. Broome made one or two attempts to draw him into their conversation; Michael answered briefly, and when he again fell silent, his hostess abandoned her efforts on his behalf and contented herself with an occasional vague smile in his direction.

Luke, clearly, was enjoying himself. Prompted by their interest, he was talking more than he usually did, able to give the Broomes news of friends and relatives in New South Wales with whom, over the years, they had lost touch. He even spoke of his wife-a topic he had hitherto carefully avoided-and of the year he had spent working on his father-in-law’s land beyond the Blue Mountains.

William questioned him minutely as to wool yields and his father-in-law’s breeding policies and, finding Luke unexpectedly knowledgeable, eyed him for a moment or two from beneath thoughtfully lowered brows and then said, “Damme, Luke boy, what do you want with gold digging? It’s a chancy business, and for every prospector who strikes it rich there are hundreds who never make enough out of their labor to eat.”

“I know that, Mr. Broome,” Luke assured him.

“Well, then?” Broome challenged. “Angus and Lachie

suf

fered from gold fever a few years back, as they’ve told you. But the pair of them learned their lesson, did you not, lads? Now they’re putting their faith and their toil into the land, just as I did. I brought a small flock of sheep of my own breeding from our family farm in New South Wales, started up near Launceston, and then came across here, when land was going for the taking and no questions asked.” He smiled.

“As my flocks grew, I drove “em onto unclaimed land. Government tried to dispute possession, when it realized what was going on, but I and a good few others who’d done the same thing, why, we claimed squatters” rights, just as they did in New South Wales. Finally the

authorities left us be. We were permitted to keep our land, as leaseholds initially, but eventually we bought it for a nominal sum. Now, without boasting, I can truthfully claim to own one of the largest sheep stations in the state of Victoria . .

. and that without finding even an ounce of gold dust!”

“It’s different now, though, isn’t it, sir?”

Luke questioned. “I mean, land has to be purchased, and the prices aren’t nominal anymore.”

“True,” Broome conceded. He pushed his empty plate away. “I’ve more land than I can develop and stock these days, Luke. Skilled labor is simply not to be had, because this infernal gold fever continues to lure men to the diggings. I cannot get the experienced shepherds and cattlemen I need, no matter what wages I offer. I’ve tried employing the Chinese, but they’re no use with sheep-and anyway, Chinese or white, sooner or later they drift off to start panning for gold, leaving me shorthanded. Australia’s future’s in the land, in wool, not in this crazy quest for instant riches, which damned few ever find. And when they do, most of them waste it.”

He was eyeing Luke keenly, Michael saw, and both his sons, guessing what was to come, were looking equally expectant.

“Stay here, Luke,” William Broome urged.

“I need a first-rate manager, a man I can rely on to relieve me of some of the responsibilities of this holding. If I had a manager, Angus and Lachie would not have to give me so much of their time. They’ve each got their own land-Lachie wants to breed cattle, don’t you, lad? But they’re run off their feet, the pair of them, working for

me.

And my eldest son, Tim, is in the navy, at William Stuart Long

present serving in the Mediterranean.

He’ll

never settle down on the land.” He noticed Luke’s embarrassed hesitation and, sensing its cause, turned to Michael. “I’d gladly give you employment if you want it, Cadogan. An extra pair of hands, whether or not they’re experienced, are always welcome.”

Michael looked down at his big, callused hands and bit back a sigh. He had labored in chains at Longridge Farm on Norfolk

Island, under the superintendent of agriculture, Gilbert Robertson, and, he recalled, he had even derived a measure of satisfaction when Robertson had ordered his chains struck off and employed him as a shepherd. But Price, soon after his arrival on the island, had dispensed with Robertson’s services, and not long after that the er/while shepherd was once more in chains, toiling in the quarry, where there was no satisfaction to be derived from work well done.

He could not tell William Broome all this, of course, and if he stayed at Bundilly, sooner or later the fact that he was an escaped convict would emerge-he would give himself away, or he would be recognized, perhaps, by a ticket-of-leave man in the township or a constable who had served on Norfolk Island or at Port Arthur. The anonymity of the gold diggings, the sheer number of men working there, offered a better chance of avoiding discovery, and Michael knew that he dared not stay here, however tempting Broome’s offer. In any case, it was Luke who was wanted, and if Luke wished to stay, then that would have to be the end of their partnership.

He said, hiding the momentary regret he felt, “Thank you, sir comx’s good of you. But I’ve come a long way to try my luck at the diggings, and I’m not about to turn back. If Luke has a mind to take up your offer, I’ll not stand in his way. Our partnership was one of convenience, wasn’t it, Luke? You are under no obligation to me.”

Luke studied his face uncertainly, and William Broome rose to his feet. “Sleep on it, Luke. Tomorrow, if the weather mends, we’ll take you out to look at the place, and you can decide when you’ve seen what Bundilly can offer. There’s no hurry.

I don’t mind waiting for a good man, believe me.”

Broome had not, Michael thought wryly, made any attempt to dissuade

him

from leaving; possibly the seeds of suspicion had already been sown in his mind, or else his guest’s unusual silence had contributed to the station owner’s suspicions.

Mrs. Broome, as if seeking in her kindly way to make up for her husband’s attitude, made a point of engaging him in conversation when they again repaired to the big, fire-lit living room.

Michael answered her briefly and evasively, and after a while she abandoned her attempt to draw him out and suggested that they were all tired and might care to make an early night of it.

In the room they shared, Luke did not speak until they had both undressed. Then, seating himself on the end of Michael’s bed, he said awkwardly, “We could

both stay here, Michael. Bundilly is in the gold-bearing area. I know the lads said that they’ve panned the river for miles without finding anything but dust … still, that often happens. Whole gangs work an area and turn up nothing, and then a new bunch comes along and makes a strike. Mr.

Broome’s told me I can prospect in my spare time, and that would apply equally to you, if you wanted to stay.”

“You know I dare not stay, Luke,” Michael reminded him.

“I don’t see why not. William Broome is a fair-minded man and-was

“There is a law against giving shelter to absconders or employing them. Mr. Broome is a

magistrate, his wife told me. I can’t stay-it would be an abuse of their hospitality, and that’s the last thing I’d do.”

“Yes, but-was

“There aren’t any buts. Besides-was Michael smiled. “I came all this way to search for gold, and if Angus and Lachie have failed to find it here, then I’ll press on. But you-oh, for God’s sake, Luke, I meant it when I said you were under no obligation to me! You’re not-and I’m heavily indebted to you in any case. You could have earned a reward if you had turned me in to the Geelong police when we landed, but you did not. And you bought our equipment and the horse. You owe me nothing-my contribution was only half of yours. Besides, you want to stay here, don’t you? It’s what you truly want?”

Luke eyed him gravely. “Yes, it is. Farming is my life, it always has been-I was born to it.

I ran away from Pengallon because it had too many memories of Elizabeth and I couldn’t William Stuart Long

bear to stay there without her. I only signed on with the Mercedes

to get away, Michael-I’m not cut out for the sea, and already I’m tired of wandering. I want to put down roots, get back to the life and the work I know. I could do that here, if you don’t mind going on to the fields alone.”