The Gold Seekers (16 page)

“Sir—” He was instantly alert. “Is there anything I can do

for you?”

“I am dying, Captain Broome, am I not?” Lucas’s tone was unexpectedly firm, bereft of its usual querulousness. He cut short Red’s ineffectual denial. “For God’s sake, man, d’you think I don’t know?”

“We shall make Fremantle in less than twenty-four hours, sir. Then we can transfer you to the hospital, where you’ll be able to receive proper medical attention. You—”

Lucas went on as if he had not spoken. “It is my wife who concerns me. She is young and will be left without means or protection in the event of my death. I am aware of the regard she has for you, Captain Broome. She’s made no secret of it.”

Taken by surprise, Red stiffened. “I assure you, Captain Lucas, I have done nothing to merit your wife’s regard,” he began. “Indeed, sir, I—”

“Spare me your excuses,” Lucas begged wearily. “She has told me that she has sought your company since this infernal lung affliction laid me low. It’s understandable; she is lonely and anxious, is she not? Don’t worry—I know you to be a man of honor, Broome. You’ll not take advantage of my—my unhappy situation, I’m aware of that. But Dora is a very beautiful young woman, and you are considerably younger than I am, alas! And you are unmarried.”

He tried to sit up, and Red, dismayed by the implication of his words, swallowed hard before putting an arm about his shoulders and lifting him into a sitting position. Dora Lucas, he could only suppose, must have lied to her unfortunate husband in order to deceive him and—the devil take her for an unprincipled minx!—in order to hide the truth from him concerning her continued clandestine meetings with young Francis De Lancey… .

Unable to restrain his annoyance, he started to protest, but Captain Lucas again ignored the interruption.

“I do not hold anything against you, believe me,” he stated earnestly. “You have, I assure you, my complete trust. But I am soon to face my Divine Maker, Broome, and I speak with that most daunting prospect before me. I must make my peace— No, permit me to have my say, for my strength is failing. And I have a favor to ask of you on my poor wife’s account.”

His voice, which had been quite strong and firm, was indeed becoming fainter. Red bit back the denial he had been about to repeat and grasped the older man’s trembling hand.

“Of course, sir,” he responded reluctantly. “I will do anything I can, anything within my power to help.”

“I want you to give me your assurance that should I no longer be able to care for my wife, you will do so. I—” Lucas’s voice was a whisper now, vibrant with emotion. “She is a lovely young creature, Broome—you do not need me to tell you that, do you?”

“No, sir,” Red acknowledged with restraint. “But you are a good deal better than you were. I truly think that you have passed the crisis. And as I told you, we shall make port within the next twenty-four hours at most. With proper medical care, sir, there’s no reason to suppose that you won’t make a full recovery.”

“Perhaps,” Lucas conceded without conviction. “But if I do not live to make port in Australia, will you take my wife— my widow—on to Sydney with you and see to it that she does not want? You have a family there, have you not—parents?”

“Yes, I have. I—”

“There will be a pension, Captain Broome, but that will take time to come through. And I have money, enough for immediate needs, in my valise. But—” A fit of harsh, dry coughing silenced him, and filled with pity, Red lowered the

sick man back onto his pillows once again and pulled the blankets over him.

“Try to sleep, sir,” he advised kindly. “We’ll get you to Australia, never fear.”

By noon the following day the Galah came to anchor in Gage’s Road, off the port of Fremantle, Western Australia, and Jonathan Brown came on deck to report that Captain Lucas had passed a restful night.

“His fever’s abated, sir,” the young surgeon’s mate added in answer to Red’s question. “But I’ll be thankful to see him placed under the care of a qualified physician all the same. Will you be arranging for the captain to be transferred to hospital ashore, sir?”

“That I shall, Mr. Brown,” Red assured him feelingly, “just as soon as the port health authorities come on board. The pilot has gone ashore, and he promised to warn them that we need assistance.”

From the Galah’s quarterdeck the distant shore seemed to offer little sign of activity. Its most striking feature was a squat, round tower situated on a high promontory, with a signal flag flying from it. Scattered about its foot were clusters of limestone cottages and a few larger buildings, which appeared to be warehouses and customs sheds, and a wharf, with about a dozen whaling vessels tied up in an irregular line close by.

But, to Red’s intense relief, Captain Lucas’s transfer was arranged with a minimum of delay. The port medical officer, an efficient middle-aged naval surgeon, cut through the usual formalities on learning the sick man’s rank, and within half an hour Lucas was being lowered, muffled in blankets, in a bo’sun’s chair, to a waiting boat. He was fully conscious, and when he bade Red farewell, he did so with fulsome gratitude.

“I fancy I owe you my life, Captain Broome,” he said huskily, “and I shall not forget it. I understand I’m to be taken upriver by boat to Perth–there is no hospital here for officers and, it appears, no carriage road from the port. This, after the colony has been in existence for more than twenty years!“His tone, for all his frail state, was critical, and Red offered no comment. The sick man went on, now sounding faintly querulous. “I shall be grateful, Broome, if you will make arrangements for my wife and her maid to follow me ashore as soon as possible, and for Mrs. Lucas’s accommodation in, er, the town of Perth.”

“That is already in hand, sir,” Red was able to tell him. “Lieutenant Martin—the port medical officer, sir, who is accompanying you—has promised to make the necessary arrangements for Mrs. Lucas. He will send a boat to convey her to Perth first thing tomorrow.”

The boat was duly sent the following day. It carried a naval crew under the command of a young midshipman. The Lucases’ personal baggage was winched into it, the maid waited at the entryport, but Dora Lucas did not appear until a good half hour later. When she did so, it was in tears, her reluctance to leave the ship manifest in each unwilling step she took across the Galah’s deck.

To Red, standing stiffly by the entryport, she said accusingly, “You are in haste to rid yourself of me, are you not, Captain Broome?”

“At your husband’s behest, Mrs. Lucas,” Red returned without contrition. His glance went to Francis De Lancey. The boy had requested permission to accompany Dora Lucas and see her safely installed in the accommodation arranged for her, and Red, against his better judgment, had given his consent, but— His mouth tightened. The fourteen-mile passage up the Swan River to the capital would take about two hours, and Captain Lucas’s wife had a right to expect one of his officers to escort her. Perhaps he was tempting Providence by allowing Francis to be that officer.

“You understand that you are to return on board as soon as you have escorted Mrs. Lucas to Perth, Mr. De Lancey?” he added, his tone curt.

De Lancey eyed him sullenly and nodded. “I understand, sir, yes.”

“Then see that you do so,” Red bade him. “The boat’s waiting. Carry on, if you please.”

De Lancey obeyed him. He assisted Dora Lucas down the accommodation ladder and into the boat, then seated him

self beside her in the sternsheets, his arm resting for a moment protectively about her shoulders. It was as swiftly withdrawn; the boat put off and headed for the shore, and for all his efforts to hide his feelings, Red found himself exchanging smiles with both his first lieutenant and the master.

“A ship of war, sir,” Fergus Macrae observed dryly, “is no place for females.” He waved a blunt-fingered hand in the direction of Dora Lucas’s maid, who had followed her mistress into the boat, demurely enough, and was now perched somewhat precariously on one of the captain’s tin trunks. “A sober, well-behaved lass, that one, but for all that, she’s leaving a few would-be suitors behind her, including one of my mates. Is it your intention to grant shore leave to the ship’s company, sir?”

Red frowned. “They’ve done damned well, all of them. I don’t see how I can deprive them of a run ashore.” He sighed. “Do you, Mr. Macrae?”

“Quite so, sir,” the master agreed, but he echoed Red’s sigh. “I just hope we’ll get ‘em all back. For how long do you anticipate staying here, if I may make so bold as to ask?”

“No longer than I can help,” Red returned uncompromisingly. He looked at Tim, his expression relaxing. “No longer than it will take the first lieutenant to fit a new bowsprit and for me to call on the Governor and visit some of my old haunts in Perth.”

Tim’s brows rose. “Of course,” he said. “I’d clean forgotten that you were here with Admiral Stirling, sir. You’ll see a good many changes, no doubt.”

In fact, Red decided, when he disembarked from the longboat in the township of Perth later that day, the changes were fewer and less noticeable than he had anticipated. True, the town had grown, but in a somewhat haphazard fashion. Its small, unpretentious houses, each possessing a large garden, bore a closer resemblance to an English village than to the capital city of a new and thriving state. The houses were elegant enough, built in Georgian style, mostly with two stories and pillared entrance porches, their bow windows and timbered fronts adding to the pleasant impression they made. With the exception of St. George’s Terrace —a wide boulevard, lined with lilac trees—the streets were narrow and only partially paved, and many of the smaller dwellings and shops had thatched roofs, their gardens devoted to the growing of vegetables and fruit, so that they appeared more practical than ornamental.

Henry Reveley had been the colony’s civil engineer and architect in Governor Stirling’s day, Red recalled; Stirling, on his way out in the Parmelia in ‘29, had picked him up at the Cape and offered him the appointment, and Reveley had built the Round House tower, as a jail, in Fremantle, as well as the courthouse, numerous administrative offices, and Government House, here in the capital. But none had found favor with either Sir James Stirling or the settlers, and poor Reveley had left for, home ten years later.

The Perth Gazette had described his Government House as “having more the appearance of a lunatic asylum than of the residence of Her Majesty’s representative.” Red smiled to himself as he reached the end of St. George’s Terrace and caught his first sight of the offending edifice. He had departed from the colony before its completion, but one of the Governor’s aides had written to him about it, his description less flattering even than that of the Gazette’s editor, if that were possible.

At first sight, however, Red did not find the building displeasing. Like the houses that neighbored it, the Governor’s official residence was in the classical Georgian style, with a columned portico at the entrance and rows of leaded windows lining both its lower and upper stories. What seemed to be later additions, in the form of single-story wings, detracted from the original symmetry of Reveley’s design, and the spacious garden looked, to Red’s eyes, a trifle untidy, although the fruit trees growing there were laden with fragrant blossoms, and the view across the river was enchanting.

He rang the bell at the front door, intending merely to sign the visitors’ book and await an official summons; but before he could do so, a small gray-haired woman, casually attired in a gingham dress and a drooping sunbonnet, came from the garden to meet him. She had a boy of about eight or nine with her, to whom she relinquished the basket of vegetables she had been carrying, and having introduced

herself as the Governor’s wife, she politely asked Red his business.

“You are a naval officer, of course—I can see that—but are you, by any chance, from the newly arrived Queen’s ship? Because if you are, Captain Fitzgerald is most anxious to see you.”

Red removed his uniform cap and bowed, warmed by her friendly smile and lack of formality. “Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed. “My name is Broome, and I am in command of Her Majesty’s ship Galah, presently lying in the Gage’s Road anchorage.”

“Then come in, do, Captain Broome,” the Governor’s lady invited. She touched the boy’s shoulder, her smile including him. “Charlie dear, run and tell Papa, would you please, that Captain Broome is waiting to see him. And then tell Mrs. Maclusky that there will be one extra for luncheon. You will stay to lunch with us, will you not, Captain?”

“I shall be delighted, ma’am, if it is not putting you to too much trouble,” Red acknowledged.

“Oh, no, certainly not,” Mrs. Fitzgerald assured him. “We keep open house here. And my husband, as I expect you know, was in the service. We do not have many naval vessels calling here. He will welcome you with open arms.” She gestured to a door at the far end of the entrance hall, through which her sturdy young son had vanished, still clutching his basket of vegetables. “He’s in the room we call the library, although I’m sorry to say it contains very few books. Do go in, Captain Broome. Charlie will have told his father that you are here.”

The Governor, Captain Charles Fitzgerald, proved as friendly and talkative as his wife. He was in his late fifties and had, Red knew, served in the Royal Navy for thirty years before being appointed first as Governor of the Gambia and then, almost three years ago, of Western Australia. He had a hearty laugh and a ready sense of humor, but Red sensed the bluff manner concealed a shrewd brain and considerable ability. He listened attentively to Red’s report, questioned him minutely about his passage, and then said, regarding him with quizzical eyes, “I understand old Benjy Lucas took passage with you? And that you had to send him ashore to our hospital as a matter of some urgency. Is he seriously ill?”

Red inclined his head gravely. “He was, sir, yes, whilst we were at sea. But I think he was over the worst when we reached here. I’m hopeful that, given skilled medical attention, which we could not provide, he will pull through. His wife came ashore to be with him—this morning, sir. Lieutenant Martin made arrangements for her to be accommodated at the hospital, I believe.” He hesitated. “You know Captain Lucas, sir?”