The Night They Stormed Eureka by Jackie French Read Free Book Online Page A

perhaps? But don’t feel you have to tell me. And don’t think I’ll feel obliged to tell anyone if you do. It’s curiosity, that’s all. I doubt there’s a single man on this goldfield — or woman either — who is exactly what they profess to be, or who isn’t running from something. Poverty, disgrace, their wives …’
    Sam hesitated. ‘Can’t they be running
to
something? Something better?’
    The Professor took another sip. ‘In some cases. A few.’
    ‘What are you running from?’
    The Professor held up his jar.
    Sam snorted. ‘You’re holding it, not running away from it.’
    ‘What it led me to. I run from that.’
    ‘Aren’t the Puddlehams who they say they are?’
    ‘A butler to Queen Victoria? I doubt it. A butler in any great house must be an imposing man, and Mr Puddleham is scarcely imposing enough to be a merchant’s butler, much less Queen Victoria’s. But an underbutler — maybe. Quite likely even, given the man’s demeanour. And Mrs Puddleham,’ the Professor smiled across the darkness. ‘I stand corrected. She is one, perhaps, who shows her true face to the world, even when she does not intend to — though I do not doubt that she has secrets too. But I was asking about you.’
    ‘Why do you think there’s anything to tell?’
    ‘Your accent is — odd. Your choice of words.’ The Professor wrestled the cork out of his jar once more and took a thoughtful swig. ‘I’ve known children who were rash, defiant, able pickpockets at eight years of age. But I’ve never met a child like you.’
    ‘I’m not a child.’
    The Professor smiled, showing crumbled teeth. ‘You see.’
    Sam took a breath. ‘Okay then. I come from the future — about a hundred and fifty years away, I think.’ She paused. ‘You’re not going to say, “You’re lying"?’
    ‘"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Excuse me, my dear. What I mean to say is: not yet. What were you in this future? Princess or beggar maid?’
    ‘Neither.’
    He took another swig. ‘A real liar would have claimed to be the princess. So what was your life like?’
    ‘It … it wasn’t good.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘It’s hard to explain.’
    ‘Try,’ said the Professor softly.
    ‘Mum … Mum used to teach at the uni. Now she’s an alcoholic. Like you,’ she added.
    ‘What about your father?’ The voice was gentle.
    Sam shrugged. ‘I’ve never had a father. Not that Mum will tell me about.’
    ‘Who do you have, then?’
    ‘Friends, I suppose. But I can’t tell them what it’s like.’
    ‘Your friends wouldn’t help you?’
    Sam was silent. ‘I think they would,’ she said at last. ‘That’s not why I can’t tell them.’
    The Professor nodded, as though he had expected the answer. ‘You are ashamed. So you came here, like every other dreamer on the goldfields, hoping for a new reality. Will you go back if you don’t find one?’
    He reached across the fire. Just a pat on her shoulder, and then his hand retreated. But somehow his presence was comforting, despite the stink of booze. The snores from the tent were a comfort too …
    ‘I don’t want to go back! It was so easy today! Just being someone else —’
    ‘Easy.’ The Professor stared up the gully to where the city of tents was just a dim glow of firelight. Drunks sang in the distance in a language she’d never heard.
    ‘Mrs Puddleham said you argued with a bushranger today. You think this life is easy?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘It is for me.’ She rubbed her nose on her sleeve. ‘Okay. What about you?’
    ‘Ah,’ said the Professor. ‘You know what my great lie is?’ ‘What?’
    ‘I really am a professor.’

Chapter 8
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Almost. A lecturer. Classics. Oxford. The city of dreaming spires.’
    ‘And then you drank?’
    ‘No, my dear. I drank while I taught. And then … my world turned hollow.’ He looked back at her with his red-rimmed eyes. The whites