him. “Well, just so long as you ain’t running from the law for any reason. You ain’t, are you?”
“No,” Luke assured him. “I’m not,
Captain Deacon.”
But, he reflected unhappily as he followed old Silas Deacon across the wharf to his waiting boat, he was running harder than he had ever run in his life, running he knew not where, from the memory of Elizabeth’s dead face, just as he had run from the memory of Dan’s-and it felt suddenly as if the devil himself were after him.
“I heard tell,” Deacon said, coming unexpectedly to a halt, “as you were mixed up in the Eureka Stockade affair at Ballarat. I don’t rightly recall who told me, but-were you there, Luke?”
Luke made an effort to remember. It seemed a long time ago, part of another life. “I was there,” he admitted. “But I was a police trooper then, not a digger. Don’t worry, there’s no price on my head.”
“And did you find the feller you were after, the one you left America to hunt for?” Deacon persisted.
“Yes, Captain,” Luke answered. “I found him. He was killed at the Stockade.”
“All, then that’s all right, then,” the old man said, relieved. “I was just a mite afraid of what you might have done when you found him.” He gestured to the boat. “Least said, soonest mended, eh? I’ll ask no more questions. Into the boat with you, lad-and you can pull an oar, if you ain’t forgotten how. You’ll have to earn your rate, you know.”
“I’ll earn it, Captain,” Luke promised.
“I’ll earn it, never fear.”
I
It was the habit of Henry Osborne and his family to attend morning service every Sunday at the parish church at Dapto, six miles from Marshall Mount, Henry’s prosperous sheep and cattle station near Lake Illawarra.
The male churchgoers went on horseback, forming a sizable cavalcade to escort the two big drays in which Sarah Osborne and her younger daughters traveled, with the female members of the establishment, who included stockmen’s wives and children and domestics.
Jenny De Lancey, invited by her hostess to take a seat in the family dray, accepted with relief. She and her husband had ridden, in admittedly easy stages, from Sydney to the Illawarra, but, unaccustomed to such strenuous exercise, she was saddlesore and stiff, and the dray was comfortably cushioned, its occupants shielded by an awning from the glare of the sun.
William, for all he had been convalescent on his arrival from England two months earlier, had very swiftly recovered from the toll the Crimean campaign had taken of him, and Jenny’s gaze was proud as she watched him ride past at Henry Osborne’s side. True, he was still painfully thin, and his empty right sleeve bore witness to the ordeal he had endured, but, if anything, his loss of weight had enhanced his good looks, and the flecks of gray in his hair and his immaculately trimmed cavalry mustache and side-whiskers added to his air of distinction. Although in civilian dress, he still contrived to maintain
his soldierly bearing, adding credence to the reasons he had given for his decision to accept the appointment he had been offered in the East India Company’s Army of Bengal.
“I’m a soldier,” he had insisted, when both Henry Osborne and his wife had urged him to stay in Australia and settle on the land. “Soldiering is all I’m fitted for, and, deuce take it, the fact is I know India a great deal better than I know the land of my birth! I’m utterly ignorant of farming-unlike you, Henry, it’s not in my blood. And besides, my sweet wife is willing to come with me to India, aren’t you, Jenny my love?”
She had, of course, assured him of her willingness, Jenny reflected a trifle ruefully. She was deeply in love with her husband of a month, reluctant to refuse him anything he might ask of her, but … She sighed. It would be a wrench to leave Australia, to part-perhaps for years-from her family and friends, and to begin life anew in a strange land,
“No,” Luke assured him. “I’m not,
Captain Deacon.”
But, he reflected unhappily as he followed old Silas Deacon across the wharf to his waiting boat, he was running harder than he had ever run in his life, running he knew not where, from the memory of Elizabeth’s dead face, just as he had run from the memory of Dan’s-and it felt suddenly as if the devil himself were after him.
“I heard tell,” Deacon said, coming unexpectedly to a halt, “as you were mixed up in the Eureka Stockade affair at Ballarat. I don’t rightly recall who told me, but-were you there, Luke?”
Luke made an effort to remember. It seemed a long time ago, part of another life. “I was there,” he admitted. “But I was a police trooper then, not a digger. Don’t worry, there’s no price on my head.”
“And did you find the feller you were after, the one you left America to hunt for?” Deacon persisted.
“Yes, Captain,” Luke answered. “I found him. He was killed at the Stockade.”
“All, then that’s all right, then,” the old man said, relieved. “I was just a mite afraid of what you might have done when you found him.” He gestured to the boat. “Least said, soonest mended, eh? I’ll ask no more questions. Into the boat with you, lad-and you can pull an oar, if you ain’t forgotten how. You’ll have to earn your rate, you know.”
“I’ll earn it, Captain,” Luke promised.
“I’ll earn it, never fear.”
I
It was the habit of Henry Osborne and his family to attend morning service every Sunday at the parish church at Dapto, six miles from Marshall Mount, Henry’s prosperous sheep and cattle station near Lake Illawarra.
The male churchgoers went on horseback, forming a sizable cavalcade to escort the two big drays in which Sarah Osborne and her younger daughters traveled, with the female members of the establishment, who included stockmen’s wives and children and domestics.
Jenny De Lancey, invited by her hostess to take a seat in the family dray, accepted with relief. She and her husband had ridden, in admittedly easy stages, from Sydney to the Illawarra, but, unaccustomed to such strenuous exercise, she was saddlesore and stiff, and the dray was comfortably cushioned, its occupants shielded by an awning from the glare of the sun.
William, for all he had been convalescent on his arrival from England two months earlier, had very swiftly recovered from the toll the Crimean campaign had taken of him, and Jenny’s gaze was proud as she watched him ride past at Henry Osborne’s side. True, he was still painfully thin, and his empty right sleeve bore witness to the ordeal he had endured, but, if anything, his loss of weight had enhanced his good looks, and the flecks of gray in his hair and his immaculately trimmed cavalry mustache and side-whiskers added to his air of distinction. Although in civilian dress, he still contrived to maintain
his soldierly bearing, adding credence to the reasons he had given for his decision to accept the appointment he had been offered in the East India Company’s Army of Bengal.
“I’m a soldier,” he had insisted, when both Henry Osborne and his wife had urged him to stay in Australia and settle on the land. “Soldiering is all I’m fitted for, and, deuce take it, the fact is I know India a great deal better than I know the land of my birth! I’m utterly ignorant of farming-unlike you, Henry, it’s not in my blood. And besides, my sweet wife is willing to come with me to India, aren’t you, Jenny my love?”
She had, of course, assured him of her willingness, Jenny reflected a trifle ruefully. She was deeply in love with her husband of a month, reluctant to refuse him anything he might ask of her, but … She sighed. It would be a wrench to leave Australia, to part-perhaps for years-from her family and friends, and to begin life anew in a strange land,
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