Read Online The Gallant by William Stuart Long - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Stuart Long
Ads: Link
evidently, being the kind of man he was, Henry Osborne had not forgotten the debt he owed to the proprietor of the Gillespie
Arms in far-off Ireland. The two young men, Tom and Joseph, must be the innkeeper’s sons, and …
“The boys are his grandsons.” Sarah Osborne answered her unvoiced question. “The old man died several years ago, but his son Benjamin-the boys’
father-was a shipping clerk in Liverpool. Henry entrusted him with the arrangements for the trade goods and livestock he has imported ever since we came out to Australia-a trust he fulfilled most admirably. He sent Tom and Joseph out under indentures, and they-as well as Henry himself-have long urged Benjamin and the rest of the family to emigrate, too. Well, now they are coming here, and Pumpkin Cottage is ready and waiting to receive them.”
Sarah spread her small hands in a gesture of finality. “Benjamin Doakes, thanks be, will relieve me, at long last, of the bookkeeping.
He is trained to it-he worked for the Black Ball and the White Star shipping lines all his adult life, whereas I …” She smiled wryly.
“Well, I had to pick up the rudiments as best I could, Jenny. And with all the land Henry now owns-and the new sheep runs across the range-it’s become too much for me.”
Which was scarcely surprising, Jenny conceded, her admiration for her charming, gray-haired hostess growing. Sarah Osborne had, as a young girl-younger, by several years, than she herself was now-abandoned home and family and friends to follow her husband to an unknown land, just as she was being called upon to follow William, in a few short weeks, to India. And Sarah had not hesitated. She had followed her heart and the man she loved, on a journey that had taken her halfway round the world.
Again, uncannily, as if she had read her guest’s unspoken thoughts, Sarah’s hand closed about hers, and Jenny sensed both understanding and sympathy as the older woman said softly, “Your husband is a fine man-and a brave one, Jenny.
Henry’s nephew, poor young surgeon Alec Osborne-the one whose effects William brought here-wrote to us of the gallantry the Light Cavalry Brigade displayed. And your William has been chosen from amongst those gallant souls to receive the highest award Her Majesty the Queen can bestow … the new medal, the one that is to be known as the Victoria Cross. He is worth any
sacrifice, Jenny.”
William Stuart Long
“Yes,” Jenny agreed, her voice choked.
“I know he is, Mrs. Osborne.”
“And you will not change him, child. He’s not cut out to be a farmer, whatever Henry says. Soldiering is in his blood. Perhaps, in his own good time, he may come to it-he may want to come back to the colony. But I doubt whether that will be for a very long while yet.”
She doubted it, too, Jenny thought resignedly, but she looked back at the beautiful cottage the Doakes family were to occupy and then, her eyes misted, to the tall figure of her husband, riding at Henry Osborne’s side, his handsome dark head thrown back in laughter at some jest his companion had made.
They reached the little township of Dapto half an hour later, and the Osborne cavalcade wound its way along the single main street, to join a procession of other worshipers on foot, on horseback, and in traps or drays like their own, all heading toward the church.
Greetings came from all sides, friendly and respectful-the Osbornes, Jenny swiftly realized, were universally popular and known to everyone.
A gray-bearded stockman, his face deeply tanned and his smile warm, came to meet the dray, gallantly sweeping off his wide-brimmed hat as he assisted Sarah Osborne to alight.
“This is Noah Wrightson,” Sarah said, when Jenny joined her. “He was with Henry when he drove the first mob of cattle from here to Adelaide in-when was it, Noah? Thirty-nine?”
The old man’s smile widened. “Aye, ‘twas in the December o’ thirty-nine we set off,” he confirmed. “Eight of us,
Arms in far-off Ireland. The two young men, Tom and Joseph, must be the innkeeper’s sons, and …
“The boys are his grandsons.” Sarah Osborne answered her unvoiced question. “The old man died several years ago, but his son Benjamin-the boys’
father-was a shipping clerk in Liverpool. Henry entrusted him with the arrangements for the trade goods and livestock he has imported ever since we came out to Australia-a trust he fulfilled most admirably. He sent Tom and Joseph out under indentures, and they-as well as Henry himself-have long urged Benjamin and the rest of the family to emigrate, too. Well, now they are coming here, and Pumpkin Cottage is ready and waiting to receive them.”
Sarah spread her small hands in a gesture of finality. “Benjamin Doakes, thanks be, will relieve me, at long last, of the bookkeeping.
He is trained to it-he worked for the Black Ball and the White Star shipping lines all his adult life, whereas I …” She smiled wryly.
“Well, I had to pick up the rudiments as best I could, Jenny. And with all the land Henry now owns-and the new sheep runs across the range-it’s become too much for me.”
Which was scarcely surprising, Jenny conceded, her admiration for her charming, gray-haired hostess growing. Sarah Osborne had, as a young girl-younger, by several years, than she herself was now-abandoned home and family and friends to follow her husband to an unknown land, just as she was being called upon to follow William, in a few short weeks, to India. And Sarah had not hesitated. She had followed her heart and the man she loved, on a journey that had taken her halfway round the world.
Again, uncannily, as if she had read her guest’s unspoken thoughts, Sarah’s hand closed about hers, and Jenny sensed both understanding and sympathy as the older woman said softly, “Your husband is a fine man-and a brave one, Jenny.
Henry’s nephew, poor young surgeon Alec Osborne-the one whose effects William brought here-wrote to us of the gallantry the Light Cavalry Brigade displayed. And your William has been chosen from amongst those gallant souls to receive the highest award Her Majesty the Queen can bestow … the new medal, the one that is to be known as the Victoria Cross. He is worth any
sacrifice, Jenny.”
William Stuart Long
“Yes,” Jenny agreed, her voice choked.
“I know he is, Mrs. Osborne.”
“And you will not change him, child. He’s not cut out to be a farmer, whatever Henry says. Soldiering is in his blood. Perhaps, in his own good time, he may come to it-he may want to come back to the colony. But I doubt whether that will be for a very long while yet.”
She doubted it, too, Jenny thought resignedly, but she looked back at the beautiful cottage the Doakes family were to occupy and then, her eyes misted, to the tall figure of her husband, riding at Henry Osborne’s side, his handsome dark head thrown back in laughter at some jest his companion had made.
They reached the little township of Dapto half an hour later, and the Osborne cavalcade wound its way along the single main street, to join a procession of other worshipers on foot, on horseback, and in traps or drays like their own, all heading toward the church.
Greetings came from all sides, friendly and respectful-the Osbornes, Jenny swiftly realized, were universally popular and known to everyone.
A gray-bearded stockman, his face deeply tanned and his smile warm, came to meet the dray, gallantly sweeping off his wide-brimmed hat as he assisted Sarah Osborne to alight.
“This is Noah Wrightson,” Sarah said, when Jenny joined her. “He was with Henry when he drove the first mob of cattle from here to Adelaide in-when was it, Noah? Thirty-nine?”
The old man’s smile widened. “Aye, ‘twas in the December o’ thirty-nine we set off,” he confirmed. “Eight of us,
Similar Books
