The Gold Seekers (21 page)

Red accepted a cup of coffee from Jenny and went to seat himself by the window, which afforded a magnificent view of Rose Bay and the harbor beyond.

“Is Magdalen in Sydney, too?” he asked, his tone deliberately casual, addressing his question to his sister.

Jenny was not deceived. Her smile widened, and she said teasingly, “Indeed she is. I met her at Abigail Dawson’s a week ago, and she told me that she had seen you in London. I think you must have made an impression, Red, because she seemed very pleased when I told her that we were expecting you back and in command of your own ship. We talked quite a lot about you, as a matter of fact.”

“I trust you sang my praises like a loyal little sister,” Red returned, matching her light tone.

“I could not, since I have not seen you for such a long time. But Magdalen did. She assured me that you had developed into a most personable young gentleman—a credit to Her Majesty’s senior service and to Australia.”

“Did she indeed?” Red laughed. “That I find hard to

believe.”

But, he thought, as he sipped his coffee and lent half an ear to a good-humored disagreement between Johnny and their father on the subject of the proposed new constitution for the colony, Magdalen De Lancey had made a deep and lasting impression on him—there was no denying that. She was a singularly beautiful girl, with her father’s dark coloring and her mother’s—his aunt Rachel’s—slim, graceful figure and the Broome blue eyes. Eyes which, he remembered, with a stirring of the pulses, sparkled entrancingly when she

was amused or excited.

He had been in London to attend on Their Lordships of the Admiralty after his ship the Thetis had paid off, and he and Magdalen had met—quite by chance—at a ball given at the Portuguese Embassy. It had been a memorable affair, Red recalled. He had owed his invitation to his old captain, Sir Danvers Mundy—who had been of service to the Portuguese government during the Thetis’s time with the Mediterranean Fleet—and the last thing he had expected was that he would meet anyone he knew on so formal an occasion. But … he had met Magdalen.

She had come with one of her Scottish uncles, a General Donaldson, who was a distinguished Peninsular veteran. The rest of his party had been elderly like himself, and, Red recalled, when the dancing had started, the general had looked around and then summoned him, with an imperious hand, and invited him to partner Magdalen. The revelation of their names had astonished and delighted them both, and for the remainder of his all-too-short shore leave, Red had called almost daily at the Donaldsons’ house in Belgrave Square, willing and eager to act as Magdalen’s escort whenever she permitted him the privilege.

The general and his kindly, buxom wife had taken them to race meetings at Ascot, to a regatta on the river at Henley, to the theater, and to a reception given by the general’s regiment to commemorate one of the famous battles in the Peninsular campaign in which its laurels had been gained.

If they had had more time, the courtship might well have become serious, but … his leave had ended, and he had had to go back to sea, Red remembered regretfully. And Magdalen had left Belgrave Square shortly afterward, to take ship for the return voyage to Sydney, their mutual promises to write thwarted by time and distance and the vagaries of the mail service. He had received one letter from her, posted at the Cape, but it had been brief and noncommittal, and— He met Johnny’s gaze and reddened.

“I intend to call on the De Lanceys,” he asserted defensively. “Quite apart from wishing to renew my acquaintance with Magdalen, there’s the question of Francis’s notion to quit the service and my ship. I shall have to talk to his father about it.”

Justin caught the last remark and asked gravely, “Does the lad have good reason?”

“He believes he has, Father. It involves a woman, with whom the young idiot has become infatuated,” Red admitted.

“Frankly I shall not miss him greatly if he does quit; I don’t think he is cut out for the service. And I have a very promising young master’s mate I can promote to acting rank in his place, but …” He shrugged. “I feel I owe it to his family to try to keep him, if it’s possible.”

“It never pays to keep an officer whose heart isn’t in his naval career,” Justin observed. He started to fill his pipe, and when it was lit and drawing to his satisfaction, he went on. “You said you had left my successor as superintendent of the naval dockyard in hospital in Perth, Red. Was he seriously ill?”

“Captain Lucas was suffering from a lung infection. He was extremely sick before we made Fremantle, but I think he was over the worst when we put him ashore. The doctors seemed hopeful that he would recover, given time and rest, sir.”

“And his wife?”

“She stayed with him.” Red was at pains to keep his voice even, but Johnny seized on the brief statement, a gleam in his eyes.

“Was she the reason for young De Lancey’s desire to quit, Red?” he asked. “Is that why—” His father raised an admonitory hand, and he broke off. “All right, Dad, I’m not trying to pry. I was curious, I admit, because—well, we had Francis’s elder brother here—on leave from India—a few months ago. Will De Lancey is an officer in Her Majesty’s Third Light Dragoons, and I’ve seldom met a finer fellow. His heart’s in the right place, though he was in danger of losing it to our little Jenny.” He grinned good-naturedly at his sister, who flushed with embarrassment and set down her cup with a clatter. “But that didn’t stop him returning to Calcutta when his furlough was up, did it, Jenny?”

“I gave Will no encouragement,” Jenny retorted indignantly. “How can you talk like that?”

Johnny seemed disposed to argue with her, but once again their father’s raised hand silenced him, and Jenny, her cheeks still pink, rose and picked up the coffee tray. “I have work to do, even if you haven’t,” she said pointedly, and made for the door. Johnny jumped to his feet and hastened to hold it open for her, bestowing a swift kiss on her cheek by way of apology before resuming his seat.

“Jenny could have any man in Sydney Town she fancies,” he told Red. “But the one she does fancy spends all his time up-country at Pengallon—digging for gold, probably. At any rate, we scarcely ever see him.”

Red frowned, trying to remember. “Do you mean Rick Tempest’s son? He and Katie had a son, did they not?”

Johnny nodded. “Yes, that’s right—Edmund Tempest. A nice enough fellow but a mite bucolic in temperament, in my humble opinion. Whereas Will De Lancey—now there’s a future general if ever I saw one! He covered himself with glory in the recent war against the Sikhs in the Punjab— mentioned in dispatches, personally commended by Lord Cough, and returning to a captaincy without purchase in the Ninth Lancers. Odd that his brother should be so different, but I suppose women can make fools of us all.”

“They should never be permitted to take passage on board ships of war,” Justin put in thoughtfully. “Least of all on long voyages—it’s asking for trouble.” He glanced at Red. “I’m presuming that it was—what’s his name?—Captain Lucas’s wife with whom young Francis De Lancey became infatuated?”

“Alas, yes,” Red confirmed. “They’re of an age, she and Francis, and Lucas is old enough to be her father.”

He did not enlarge on the subject, and his father did not press him. Instead, Justin said a trifle wearily, “So I shall have to carry on at the dockyard for a while longer. Damme, I’d been looking forward to my retirement!”

“You do not look ready for retirement, sir,” Red protested.

“I’m nearing my sixtieth birthday, Red,” his father reminded him. “And the dockyard is designed to service and repair steamships. In the very near future, steam will supersede sail in Her Majesty’s Navy, and engineers like your Captain Lucas will be better suited to command on Cockatoo Island than I shall. Already they are constructing steam paddlers and stern-wheelers for use in coastal and river work and to deliver mail out here. If the new goldfields in the Port Phillip area prove as rich as forecasts suggest, then we’ll

have steamers coming out from England and the States in their hundreds. There’s a rumor that the Great Britain may come out—and she’s steam-screw and iron-hulled, and of over three thousand tons burden! Three thousand five hundred, I believe. She’s also rigged for sail, it’s true, but the writing’s on the wall, Red. You are fortunate to be in command of a Symondite like the Galah.”

“What about the American clipper ships, sir?” Johnny asked. “I interviewed a Yankee gold digger for the paper a few weeks ago, and he told me that he had made the passage from New York to San Francisco, round the Horn, in a clipper designed by a man named Donald McKay at a yard in Boston. He claimed that she made the passage in ninety-seven days, when the best the steamers could achieve was something like a hundred and forty. Is that not proof that steam will not supersede sail for a good many years yet?” “For long voyages, probably,” Justin conceded, “and until coal supplies can be made available at every port of call—if the steamers are to carry cargo, they cannot carry sufficient coal for a long voyage in addition.” He sighed. “I don’t want to see the day come when the sailing vessel gives way to the smoke-belching steamer, the Lord knows—and least of all in the Royal Navy. But for all that, I fear it will come.”

They argued amicably for a little longer, and then Red, glancing at the clock on the mantelshelf, rose to take his

leave.

“I have to call on the Governor, sir,” he told his father. “And on Captain Skinner. After that, if there’s time and Skinner doesn’t detain me, I will try to see Judge De Lancey. And perhaps you, with Jenny and Johnny, will give me the pleasure of entertaining you to dinner on board the Galah tomorrow? I’d like to show you round properly and introduce you to my officers, if you can spare the time.”

He was rewarded by his father’s delighted smile.

“We shall be happy to dine with you, Red. Indeed, it will be my pleasure, I assure you. It is good—I cannot begin to tell you how good—to have you back at last.”

They bade each other an affectionate farewell, and Johnny walked with his brother to the street door.

“The Governor’s in Parramatta, Red,” he warned. “You’ll

have to call on him there if you want to see him in person. You know he lost his wife four years ago? They were in their carriage, leaving Government House in Parramatta to come here, when the horses bolted. Poor Lady Fitzroy was killed outright, and His Excellency badly injured—he’s somewhat crippled even now—and it took the heart out of him. He spends more of his time in Parramatta than he does here and leaves most of the administration to the colony’s secretary, Deas Thomson, and the Legislative Council. You should try to see Deas Thomson if you can—he’s a very able man, and a likable one.” He stood holding the door, his smile widening. “As Dad said, it is good to have you home again, Red.”

“I wasn’t sure whether my return was a cause for celebration in your case, John,” Red confessed, feeling the need, suddenly, to unburden himself to his brother and, if he could, learn the reason for Johnny’s initial resentment. “You seemed—how can I put it?—a mite offhand.”

“Cautious, brother,” Johnny amended. “It’s been a long time, and you’ve been living in a different world from the rest of us. I was afraid you might have changed and—not to put too fine a point on it—become more British than Australian. And there was Mam, of course. She missed you so much and—damn it, you stayed away! Even when she was dying, poor, dear soul, it was you she wanted by her side. None of us meant what you did to Mam, you know—not even Dad.”

Red felt as if a knife were twisted in his heart. He could not defend himself, he knew; Johnny’s charges against him were justified. He had let ambition rule his actions, had put the furtherance of his naval career before family loyalty and the ties that bound him to the land of his birth.

“I stand convicted,” he said regretfully. “And there’s nothing I can do to put the clock back, is there? Not where Mam’s concerned. I can only tell you that I did not know she was ill, much less dying; her letters never even hinted at it.”

“No,“Johnny conceded. “She did not want you to know.” He put out a hand to grasp Red’s arm. “Look, I’ll walk with you, shall I, and we can talk. Which is your first port of call— Government House?”

Red fell into step beside him. “Not if the Governor’s away.

I’d best pay my respects to our senior naval officer, I think— Captain Skinner.”

“Then you’re likely to be closeted with him for the rest of the day,” Johnny suggested dryly. “Very conscious of the magnitude of his responsibilities, he is, and your Galah will be a gift from heaven, since his total command on this station consists of the old Calliope and three small sloops. But I’ll take you to his official residence. Turn left and head downhill.”

They talked as they walked briskly together down the dusty, sunlit street toward Sydney Cove, and when they finally halted outside Captain Skinner’s imposing stone-built residence, Red felt that the gulf of years had, at least partially, been bridged so far as his brother was concerned.

At the front door, guarded by a uniformed marine sentry, Johnny held out his hand.

“I take it you’ll be calling on the De Lanceys when you get away from here?” He did not wait for Red’s reply but wrung his hand warmly, a jesting smile curving his lips. “Magdalen De Lancey is a charming girl, Red. Like our little sister Jenny, she could take her pick of Sydney’s eligible bachelors. But for some reason she doesn’t seem to have shown a preference for any of them. Could you be the reason, do you suppose?”

Red grinned back at him. “It’s to be hoped I am,” he admitted. “But I’ve yet to find that out.”

He touched his hat in acknowledgment of the sentry’s salute, and the door opened to admit him to the presence of Captain John Skinner.

“Ah, Commander Broome …” The stout, red-faced post captain ignored his visitor’s tentative greeting and waved him impatiently to a chair, coming without preamble to the point he wished to make. “I had an engagement that prevented me from boarding you when you entered the harbor. But I will not delay my, ah, official inspection. I take it you and your ship’s company will be prepared to receive me tomorrow forenoon, will you not?”