The Gold Seekers (19 page)

They moved swiftly, skimming over the calm blue water, the strong arms of their paddlers moving in time to a melodious chant, and now, as they came nearer, Mercy was able to see that the white woman, seated at Claus’s side in the foremost canoe, was slim and gray-haired. She was soberly clad, in a dark skirt topped by a starched white blouse, and she was hatless, her small, comely face deeply tanned, as if she spent a good deal of her time in the open air or … even with the Maoris in their canoes. Certainly she appeared to have chosen to travel thus, for the ship’s longboat, in which Claus had left the Dolphin, was bringing up the rear of the procession, the sweating seamen at the oars unable to keep pace with the Maoris’ skillful paddling.

Of the two young white men Luke had mentioned, Mercy could see little more than the tops of their heads, bleached

to corn-colored fairness by the sun and standing out, in vivid contrast, against the dark heads of the warriors surrounding them.

“The captain,” Luke asserted, a faint edge to his voice, “seems very friendly with the white lady. Well, maybe she is nearer his age than you are, Mercy.”

Mercy flushed resentfully. Of late Luke had been critical of her friendship with the Dolphin’s master, and it was true that Claus Van Buren had begun to show her marked attention, seeking her company to walk the deck in the warm moonlit evenings and—after the departure of the ship’s other passengers—inviting her to eat with him in the clipper’s beautifully furnished stern cabin. Her own cabin, on the same deck, was an officer’s cabin, whereas Luke, as a deckhand, bunked with the rest of the crew in the fo’c’sle and messed with them. Of course the two of them had kept up the initial deception they had practiced; to the Dolphin’s company, as well as to her master, they were brother and sister, and neither had felt it advisable or necessary to confess to the truth—save, Mercy reminded herself guiltily, to Father Ignatius. She had told him the truth, when she had made her confession… . She looked up into Luke’s face, swallowing her brief resentment.

It was to Luke she owed her presence here. He, by working as a seaman, had paid her passage; he had not abandoned her in San Francisco, as she had feared he might, but had taken her with him, accepting responsibility for her when it would have been easier for him to continue alone in pursuit of Jasper Morgan. He had never professed to love her, never so much as laid a hand on her during the days of their enforced intimacy, but … they were linked together by an unspoken bond, stronger, perhaps, than love.

And Claus Van Buren … Mercy’s smooth brow furrowed. Claus was not, in any way she could recognize, paying court to her. He had never attempted to embrace her, had done no more than offer her his arm when they took their walks on deck together, and they were still on formal terms of address. She was Miss Mercy, and he, of course, was Captain Van Buren, and yet … Her color deepened and spread as she met Luke’s searching gaze and heard him say in an accusing tone, “You go out of your way to encourage the captain’s interest, don’t you?”

“No,” Mercy denied indignantly. “That I do not! How can you say such a thing?”

Luke shrugged. “Because it’s true. And if you want my opinion, I reckon he’s showing a pretty strong interest. Or I did until—” He pointed to the canoe. “Until now. Maybe the white lady is the object of his affections.” The mate came on deck, shouting to the watch to bestir themselves and rig a winch for hauling the baggage inboard, and Luke hastened to obey him.

The mate, a grizzled veteran of many voyages who, on his own admission, had come out to New South Wales as a convict, touched his faded peak cap and gave Mercy a warm smile. “Passengers, miss,” he told her, confirming Luke’s guess. “The lady is a Mrs. Yates, from the mission station at Rangihowa—the wife of the doctor there, Simon Yates. Them Maoris think the sun shines out o’ the both of ‘em, an’ that’s a fact. I been wonderin’, ever since I seen Mrs. Yates in the canoe, what could cause her to want to leave here an’ go to Sydney. She an’ the doctor, why, they’ve been at Rangihowa ever since old Reverend Marsden died, an’ that’s a fair while ago.”

“Reverend Marsden?” Mercy echoed, puzzled. “Who was he, Mr. Deacon?”

“It’d take me a month o’ Sundays to tell you, miss,” Silas Deacon demurred. “But ‘twas him as set up the first Christian mission here, an’ all the Maori tribes acted like he was the Lord God Almighty Hisself. He had ‘em in the palm o’ his hand, did old Marsden. Do anything for the old feller, they would, even the chiefs. Funny thing, though—he wasn’t well liked by his own kind back in New South Wales. They—” He broke off to yell an order to one of the seamen, and turned back to Mercy apologetically. ” ‘Scuse me, missy, if you please—I got to make sure that baggage gets safely aboard. You ask Mrs. Yates ‘bout Mr. Marsden an’ the early days—she’ll tell you. An’ about the war, too. An ugly business, that were, ‘specially when they had to bring the sojers in.”

He shambled off, conscientiously testing the winch that

Luke and the others had rigged, and the canoes came alongside. Mercy waited, watching with interest as Claus Van Buren assisted the new arrivals on board, giving Mrs. Yates his two outstretched hands and solicitously helping her rise from her seat in the stern of the canoe and ascend to the Dolphin’s entryport. The two young white men followed, and Mercy saw that both were young indeed, the elder perhaps twenty, the other one a few years his junior—smiling, good-looking lads, of imposing physique, clad as simply and practically as their mother.

Summoned to the captain’s cabin ten minutes later, Mercy was introduced to Emily Yates and her sons, and to the two Maori chiefs who had accompanied them.

“Mrs. Yates is not coming with us to Sydney,” Claus Van Buren explained. He gestured to Saleh, who was standing expectantly behind a table set out with silver tea things and sweetmeats. “She will just take a cup of tea with us and then go back to the mission with Chief Te Marire, whose little daughter is ill and under treatment by the good Dr. Yates. But Rob and Simon …” His tone, to Mercy’s surprise, became openly critical, even angry, as he went on. “They are bent on joining the new gold rush, which, it seems, is taking place in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. Or so rumor has it.”

“It’s true, Captain Van Buren,” the elder boy insisted. “Not just a rumor. A man named Hargraves—fresh from the Californian goldfields—discovered gold in the Macquarie River area. And Governor Fitzroy has recognized his claim; he’s appointed Hargraves gold commissioner for the colony. And we—” He glanced a trifle shamefacedly at his mother. “Simon and I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives here as penniless settlers. We aim to make our fortunes in Australia.”

Claus seemed, for a moment, disposed to argue, but Mrs. Yates, accepting a cup of tea from Saleh with a charming smile, put in quietly, “It is a fact, Claus. We learned of it in an official announcement by our Governor, Sir George Grey. Since then we have read the reports in the Sydney newspapers, which reached us quite recently, and nothing Dr. Yates or I can say will dissuade these two sons of ours from leaving here to join the gold seekers.” She went into detail, but Mercy scarcely heard what she was saying.

Luke, she thought unhappily, would be wildly elated when he heard the news, for it would surely mean that Jasper Morgan was unlikely to have left Australia. If gold had indeed been found there, Morgan would go in search of it, and perhaps— She drew in her breath sharply. Perhaps, in spite of the long delay, there was a chance that Luke would manage to pick up his trail and attempt to exact retribution for his brother’s murder. Suddenly she was afraid, dreading the possible outcome—although, she reminded herself, that had been the purpose of their voyage halfway across the world, even if she had been lulled into losing sight of it.

She looked at Claus Van Buren and heard him assert, his tone still edged with a controlled anger, “If it resembles in any particular the Californian gold rush, it will be a disaster for Australia, Emily! Greed, lawlessness, a vast influx of men from all corners of the globe … Dear heaven, I have come from San Francisco, and I saw what appalling effect it had there! The harbor was a wilderness of deserted ships, the town under vigilante administration. God forbid that Sydney should suffer a like fate!”

“How could that happen, sir?” Robert Yates protested. “Surely California was barely settled and San Francisco a mere fishing village when the gold rush started there. New South Wales has been settled for what? More than sixty years, with a strong government—a Governor, a Legislative Council, and a garrison of imperial troops. And the Royal Navy, sir.”

Claus’s anger faded. He looked at the young New Zealander almost sadly and answered with restraint, “You do not know what greed and the lust for gold can do, Robert.”

“We shall not be affected,” Robert Yates said, with confidence. Smiling, he laid his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “We were brought up in a God-fearing Christian family. For both of us, it’s an adventure really, nothing more. If we should be lucky and—what do they call it?—make a strike, we’ll come back here and use our gain to good effect. We’ll buy land and stock and settle down, have no fear, Captain

Van Buren. But I hope you’ll not deny us the chance to try our luck.”

His younger brother echoed his plea, and Claus said resignedly, “Very well, if your parents are willing to let you both go, I will not stand in your way.” His glance at Mrs. Yates was questioning, and Mercy, studying her face, glimpsed the momentary uncertainty in it. But then she inclined her head.

“They will never rest unless they are given the chance, Claus,” she answered.

“Then so be it,” Claus acknowledged. He turned to the two Maoris, who until now had been politely silent, drinking tea with all the decorum of British gentlemen, their table manners impeccable but their expressions somewhat puzzled as they attempted to follow the gist of the conversation and seemingly found it beyond them. Addressing them both by name and in their own tongue, Claus quickly set them at ease, causing them to grin broadly at whatever it was that he had said. The younger Maori replied at some length with what appeared to Mercy as derision.

“Chief Tamihana says that there is probably gold here, in the land of Chief Te Tanewha—the man they call Hooknose,” Claus translated. “And in the Wairu Valley also. But he asks what need there is for gold, save to fashion ornaments for women? It would be better, he believes, to search for greenstone, in order to make weapons for warriors in the Maori tradition.”

Mrs. Yates, who had evidently understood the chief’s brief tirade, gave vent to amused laughter and, rising to take her leave, made a pretense of knocking her sons’ heads together before embracing them tenderly.

“You see, Miss Murphy?” she said to Mercy. “They will not listen to reason. But perhaps your brother—Luke, is it not?—perhaps he is in the same state. They will learn only by experience, I fear.”

Both men reddened but remained apparently unconvinced. They accompanied their mother to the entryport and stood there waving until the small floating procession was lost to sight in the gathering dusk and the chanting of the paddlers faded into an oddly poignant silence.

Claus lost no time in getting the Dolphin under way. The anchor came up and was catted, sail was swiftly set, and the clipper’s sharp bow cut through the iridescent water of the bay as she gathered speed and headed for the open sea. Luke was at the wheel, with Claus standing the watch, and Mercy dined alone in the great cabin, waited on by old Saleh, who seemed in a strangely anxious and uncommunicative mood.

“It is not good that they find gold in the Blue Mountains,” he said when Mercy pushed away her plate, shaking her head to his offer of replenishment. “You have seen, as have my master and myself, what evil the quest for easy fortune and enrichment can let loose. Even good and sober men can be driven to near madness by gold fever. They will desert their wives and children, their homes and their employment without a second thought, moved only by the desire for riches. I would not wish to witness such a madness taking root in New South Wales, Miss Mercy.”

And neither, Mercy reflected, would she, and she shook her head regretfully.

“How can it be prevented, Saleh?” she asked.

The old Javanese spread his brown hands in a despairing gesture. “There is no way, I greatly fear. The two young men, the sons of Dr. Yates, they are sober enough, are they not? Yet they take passage now with us—working their passage, as does your brother Luke—and they will make all haste to the goldfields as soon as this ship comes to anchor in Sydney Harbor. Luke also, I do not doubt.”

“Yes,” Mercy conceded. “Luke will go to the fields.” But not, she thought, to search for gold … Luke had a stronger, more compelling reason, and she shivered involuntarily, remembering what that reason was.

Saleh eyed her searchingly, and she found herself wondering whether the wise old servant had somehow guessed Luke’s purpose. But it was unlikely that he could have guessed; neither she nor Luke had ever spoken of what had occurred at Thayer’s Bend to anyone on board the Dolphin. Even to Father Ignatius she had not revealed Luke’s desire for vengeance—that was Luke’s affair, she had told herself, not hers, and therefore need not be included in her confession.

In any event, Father Ignatius was at his mission station in Nelson by this time or on his way there, and to a priest the secrets of the confessional were inviolate.

She met Saleh’s shrewd dark eyes and summoned a smile. “Luke worked in the Sacramento River fields, Saleh,” she reminded him. “He will have no difficulty in finding employment in the Australian diggings. Men with his experience will be in demand, I am sure.”

“Doubtless that is so,” Saleh agreed. He paused, continuing to search her face and seemingly seeking for words. Finally, he asked quietly, “And you, Miss Mercy? What will you do when the ship comes to anchor in Sydney Cove?”

Mercy felt the color leap to her cheeks, finding his grave scrutiny disconcerting. “I—I do not know,” she confessed uneasily. “I—well, I shall hope to find employment. Work in a shop perhaps, or as a servant. I hadn’t thought. I hadn’t made any plans. There are settlers with large farms, are there not, outside Sydney? I come of farming stock, and I can milk and make butter and care for goats and poultry.”