The Gallant (10 page)

“You have only recently arrived here, I believe,” Lady Denison observed. “You and your brother … so you will not yet be acquainted with Colonel and Mrs. William De Lancey,

to whom, sadly, we are bidding farewell this evening, on their departure for India. Come, Lady Kitty, and let me make you known to them.”

The De Lanceys were a good-looking couple, Kitty saw as, her hostess’s hand on her arm, she was led up to them. Colonel De Lancey, contrary to her preconceived notion of him, was tall and darkly handsome, a man in the prime of life, with intelligent brown eyes and a humorous smile, his hand claspin contrast to the governor’s-firm and warm, for all it was made with his left hand.

His wife was young and slim, her beautiful auburn hair unfashionably dressed in a simple knot at the nape of her neck, which somehow became her better than any sort of elaborate coiffure would have done. Her gown, too, was plain, but in an exquisite shade of greenish blue, reflecting the color of her deep-set, smiling eyes and emphasizing the slim shapeliness of her figure.

Despite her earlier prejudices, Kitty found herself taking an instant and purely instinctive liking to them both. Conscious of a feeling of regret that there would be no chance to further an William Stuart Long

acquaintance with them, she turned, seeking to draw Patrick into their conversation, and then realized that he was not behind her.

“Your brother,” Colonel De Lancey said, gesturing to the center of the room, “is with the Catholic archbishop and his brother bishop from Hobart, Lady Kitty. Not,” he added, lowering his voice, “the best way to win the approbation of His Excellency, I fear, supposing that to be his desire. Sir William and Bishop Willson have crossed swords rather frequently in the past, I’m told, when Sir William was governor of Tasmania. The bishop has long been opposed to convict transportation, whereas His Excellency holds the opposite view-a somewhat unpopular one these days, particularly in New South Wales, as no doubt you will have gathered. Isn’t that so, Jenny my dear?”

Thus appealed to, his wife inclined her head a trifle reluctantly. “We must not give the impression to new arrivals like Lady Kitty that we are quarrelsome colonials, Will,” she reproved him gently.

“No, indeed,” De Lancey conceded. “But I thought that a-well, a word of warning might be in order, if Lady Kitty and her brother are planning to settle here. Are you, if I may ask, Lady Kitty?” He frowned, glancing across to study Patrick’s half-turned face

uncertainly. “Or is your brother aiming to join the gold seekers?”

Such an intention was easy to deny, and Kitty relaxed, shaking her head emphatically. “Oh, no, certainly not, Colonel. If we do settle here, it will be on the land. We have an estate at home in Ireland, and Patrick is

interested in bloodstock breeding. We-was She was saved from the necessity of offering a more detailed explanation by the arrival of a frail, white-haired lady in a black lace gown, leaning on the arm of a young ensign of the garrison regiment. Both the De Lanceys greeted her with warm affection as “Aunt Abigail.”

Kitty slipped away, intending to merge with the crowd of guests now gathering in the ballroom.

Patrick, she saw, was still talking to Bishop Willson, but the archbishop and his elderly, black-robed companion, Father Therry, had moved away, and she hesitated, wondering whether or not to join her brother. As she stood undecided, the military orchestra on a dais at the far end of the room struck up a lively waltz, and a hand touched her lightly on the arm. She turned, to find herself looking into the bearded face of the man she had seen earlier, seated in the phaeton that had been ahead of their carriage in Macquarie Street-the man whom Patrick had confidently predicted would seek her out.

At close quarters, he was taller and better-looking than she had supposed, and-like the naval officer who had been seated

opposite him in the open phaeton, whom Patrick had guessed was “Red” Broome-his hair and beard could only be described as red.

Admiring blue eyes met hers as she confronted him; he bowed, a trifle awkwardly, and then lifted his head, smiling.

“Permit me to introduce myself, ma’am-John Broome, at your service, requesting the pleasure of this waltz.”

It was done with an odd mixture of diffidence and effrontery, and before Kitty could answer his request, he swept her into his arms and onto the dance floor, holding her closer than current fashion decreed. But he was an excellent dancer, moving for all his height and broad, muscular body with easy lightness and, a little to her surprise, in silence. Not until the dance came to an end and the polite applause died down did he speak, and then it was only to thank her, with grave formality, for permitting him to partner her.

“I enjoyed it,” Kitty told him truthfully.

“You are a very good dancer, Mr. Broome.”

“And so are you, Lady Kitty,” he assured her.

“You know my name?”

“It’s my business to know the names of new arrivals, ma’am.” He smiled, the smile, as before, lighting his face. “I’m a journalist-a newspaper correspondent. But … there are new arrivals and new arrivals. Some who arouse no curiosity, and some who make me very curious indeed. You come into the latter category.”

“Do I?” Kitty’s pleasure evaporated.

She looked round for Patrick but could see no sign of him. Despite this, she made to excuse herself, but John Broome laid a detaining hand on her arm. “Please don’t desert me,” he begged, swiftly contrite. “I’d no intention of offending you, believe me. It’s just that …

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well, most new arrivals in this colony come here for obvious reasons. There are the officials, civil and military, the settlers, and of course the fortune hunters, drawn here by the lure of gold.

They come from every walk of life and in every nationality. But … it’s very seldom that members of the aristocracy come out to Australia, you know … unless they’re in the services. The idle rich don’t.”

“The Irish aristocracy,” Kitty

pointed out, with a touch of asperity, “should not be confused with the English, Mr. Broome. My brother and I are Irish, and we are neither idle nor rich.”

“Nor particularly lovers of the English?”

John Broome suggested shrewdly.

Kitty reddened under his scrutiny. “We are patriots, sir,” she returned, with a sudden flash of temper that she instantly regretted. But her partner did not take advantage of her momentary lapse; the orchestra struck up again, and he smiled and held out his arms to her. “Shall we continue? Your brother is still deeply engaged in conversation with Bishop Willson.”

He was observant, Kitty thought, and clearly well informed; a man to be wary of, because he would not easily be deceived, but … he was truly an excellent dancer, and so long as she remembered to keep a guard on her tongue, there would be no harm in waltzing with him. Besides, as Patrick had remarked, an introduction to Captain Red Broome of Her Majesty’s frigate

Galah

might result and afford the opportunity for one-or even both of them-to request passage to Norfolk Island. Royal Navy warships did,

on occasion, carry civilian passengers… .

She echoed John Broome’s smile and went gracefully into his arms.

As they danced, she asked innocently, “Is not your brother in command of the

Galah,

Mr. Broome? And was he not with you in the carriage that brought you here, just ahead of us?”

“That’s so,” her partner confirmed readily. “With his wife, my beautiful sister-in-law Magdalen, who is the daughter of Judge De Lancey and, of course, the sister of tonight’s guest of honor, Will De Lancey-to whom, I believe, you were introduced?” His smile widened. “We are all related-Will’s wife is

my

sister, Jenny. A mite confusing, I fear. We colonials tend to

intermarry.” He came to a halt, gesturing to a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman who had just then entered the ballroom. “The judge himself, Lady Kitty-a veteran of the Peninsular campaign and Waterloo but born in an er/while colony, America.”

“Then not a rebel?” Kitty suggested.

“Far from it, Lady Kitty. The De Lanceys are all of the kind once called colonial Loyalists, whose loyalty, perhaps needless to tell you, earned them scant reward from the British government.” John Broome resumed the dance, swinging her effortlessly round the floor in time to the lively beat of the music. “But,” he added, when the waltz came to an end, “they have all made good out here. Australia is a land of opportunity, even for those who came out in chains … as my forebears did.”

Taken by surprise at this admission, Kitty stared at him. “Did they, Mr. Broome? That seems hard to credit.”

“It’s the truth,” he assured her. “My grandmother-the one from whom we’ve inherited our red hair-came out in Governor Phillip’s first fleet. She was sixteen years old and had been sentenced to death-the sentence commuted to transportation for life … her crime the theft of a few shillings!

But, fortunately for us, she came of farming stock and eventually became the emancipist owner of a sizable sheep run on the Nepean River. Even more fortunately for us, Grandfather Broome-one of the few who ever made a successful escape from here-subsequently had a not undistinguished career in the Royal Navy during the French wars.”

“And your brother also? He has made a distinguished career in the Royal Navy, hasn’t he?” Kitty suggested. “I mean,” she added, seeing his hesitation, “command of one of Her Majesty’s frigates is no small

achievement.”

“Indeed not. I … would you like to meet him, Lady Kitty? I’m sure that he and Magdalen would be more than delighted to make your acquaintance-although in Red’s case it will not be for long. The

Galah

is under orders to sail during the next day or so, to assist in the final evacuation of the convicts from Norfolk Island.” John Broome offered his arm. “If you’d care to follow me-was Kitty gave her assent, careful not to sound too eager. It had

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been easier than she had anticipated, but . .

. Again she looked round for Patrick.

“My

brother would very much like to meet yours, I know, Mr.

Broome.

Hz

is hoping for a chance to visit Norfolk Island, you see, and …” She glimpsed Patrick’s dark head and waved to him urgently, conscious that John Broome was eyeing her in some surprise. Perhaps, she thought, it had been a mistake to mention Patrick’s desire to visit the penal

settlement. Perhaps-since she could offer no valid reason for such a desire-her disclosure had been premature and might arouse suspicion. She fell back on the explanation they had agreed upon, purposely making it sound vague: “Patrick is deeply interested in prison reform, and he intends to write a book on the subject. The prison on Norfolk Island is one he is particularly anxious to see in person.”

To her relief, her companion appeared to accept her explanation at its face value. “I see,”

he said. “Well, I don’t imagine there will be much difficulty where Norfolk Island is concerned. The evacuation is almost complete-only the few good-conduct prisoners and staff detailed to put the place in order remain there now. It’s to be given to the descendants of the Bounty

mutineers from Pitcairn Island as their permanent home, as possibly you may have heard. And”-he sounded unexpectedly vehement-“I say thank God for that! It’s a beautiful island, which for too long has been hell on earth for the poor devils of convicts condemned to serve their sentences there. They-was He broke off as Patrick joined them, acknowledging Kitty’s introduction politely.

He looked pale and tense, however, as if what he had learned from his lengthy conversation with Bishop Willson had shocked and disconcerted him. Fearing an impulsive outburst, Kitty put in quickly, a plea for restraint in her eyes, “Pat dear, Mr. Broome will present us to his brother, the captain of H.m.s.

Galah

comy know, the frigate that is shortly to sail to Norfolk Island. You know how much you wanted to make contact with him, in the hope of asking him to give you passage to the island.”

To her relief, Patrick’s expression relaxed, and he summoned a smile. “Yes, indeed. I’ll be greatly obligated to you, Broome, if you’ll present us to the captain.

I-was He glanced with sudden

uneasiness at Kitty. “I don’t know what my sister has told you, but we-that is, I-was Kitty interrupted, with deliberate lightness.

“I told Mr. Broome about your book and your interest in prison reform, Pat, and he does not think there will be much difficulty in obtaining permission to visit the Norfolk Island prison, since-was She turned her gaze on John Broome, still speaking with seeming casualness. “Since most of the convicts have been evacuated now.”

“Yes,” her brother said, with bitterness he could not hide. “Evacuated to an even more hellish prison in Tasmania-Port Arthur, the bishop informed me.”

“They are all what we term capital respites, Cadogan,” John Broome

reminded him. “That is to say, men sentenced to death for crimes committed since their arrival here and whose sentences were commuted. Or incorrigibles, serving long sentences for bushranging and the like. Please-was He held up a hand, forestalling Patrick’s indignant protest. “I’m no defender of our prison system, I assure you-rather the reverse, and my paper has long campaigned for reform and an end to all transportation. But men sent to Norfolk Island or the Tasmanian

penitentiaries are hardened criminals, you must understand, considered to be beyond reform or redemption, the majority of them. They-was

The band struck up again, and as people crowded onto the floor, the rest of his words were lost in the beat of the music and the soft thud of dancing feet. Kitty grasped her brother’s arm in mute warning, and once again his expression relaxed.

“I’ll watch my tongue, Kit, don’t

worry,” he whispered. “Let’s go, shall we?”

. John Broome led the way to the far side of the ballroom, skirting the milling couples on the dance floor, and Kitty and Patrick followed him to where a small group had gathered beneath the portrait of a former governor in military scarlet.