The Gallant by William Stuart Long Read Free Book Online Page B

the staging-post yard, were a measure of their disappointment at his departure, but Luke steeled himself against the impulse that bade him stay on their account. He waved once and then settled back on the roof of the lurching coach, resolutely refusing to look back.
    He was stiff and cold when the coach decanted its passengers at the depot in Sydney, having covered the 140-mile journey in sixteen hours, with brief halts at changing stations to hitch up fresh teams of horses and enable the passengers to stretch their legs and refresh themselves.
    Luke had not eaten; the mere thought of food was abhorrent to him, and he did not take advantage of the meal that was on offer at the coach depot.
    Instead, unshaven and in crumpled clothes, he set off on foot for the Van Burens” residence in Bridge Street, his few possessions contained in a cloth-bound bundle slung over his shoulder.
    The servant who answered the door peered at him uncertainly in the dim light of a distant streetlamp and brusquely directed him to the tradesman’s entrance, at the rear of the opulent house.
    “But if you’ve come begging for charity,” the man added dismissively, “you’d best go elsewhere. The master’s at sea, and the mistress won’t receive you.”
    Becoming belatedly aware of the spectacle he presented, Luke sighed but held his ground.
     

William Stuart Long
    “Tell your mistress that Luke Murphy would like to see her,” he requested, and, ignoring the fellow’s attempt to impede him, he strode into the hall. Mercy Van Buren saved him from further embarrassment; evidently hearing and recognizing his voice, she came hurrying down the wide, curving staircase to fling herself into his arms with a glad cry of welcome.
    It was over a year since he had seen the girl who had joined his pursuit of Jasper Morgan and traveled with him from San Francisco in Claus Van Buren’s clipper
    Dolphin,
    and Luke’s flagging spirits lifted at the sight of her. He started to stammer out an explanation for his sudden appearance at her front door, but Mercy waved him to silence.
    “Luke dear, it does not matter why you are here-it’s enough that you’ve come! And clearly you need shaving water and a bath and-goodness, a change of clothing and, I fee! sure, a meal. Then you can tell me why you’ve come.” Turning, she issued brisk instructions to the manservant who had been so reluctant to admit him, and, when the man had gone to carry them out, she added, laughing, “And you may come and bid good-night to my sons when you are looking less like a scarecrow. I was putting them to bed when I heard your voice, and they won’t sleep until they’ve seen you.”
    An hour later, freshly shaven and clad in a borrowed suit, Luke was introduced briefly to Mercy’s small, sleepy twin sons, Joseph and Nathan, and then, as if sensing his distress, she led him to the dining room.
    “You must eat,” she insisted. “Then we can talk.
    I wish Claus were here, but he’s at sea, on his way to Batavia in the
    Dolphin.
    He will not be home for six or eight weeks at the earliest, but I’m thankful he did not go to England with the wool crop this year. I’d have lost him for much longer.”
    There was a wealth of affection in her voice, and Luke, forcing himself to sample the food she placed in front of him, reflected, without envy, that Mercy’s marriage was as happy as his own had been. They had come a long way together, he and she-the Mormon farm boy from the California valley and the waif from the wagon train who had lost her parents and her friends in the long, perilous overland journey to the American goldfields.
    The meal over, a servant brought him pipe and tobacco, and then and only then did Mercy permit him to explain the reason for his presence. He told her in a clipped, controlled voice, and there were tears in her eyes as she listened.
    “Oh, Luke, I’m deeply sorry, sorrier than I can find words to tell you. But you-you’ve left