Gentleman Jack

Gentleman Jack

by Lindsey Power

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Lindsey Power

www.lindseypower.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission.

The principle characters in this book are fictitious..

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Prologue

1848 - Sydney, Colony of New South Wales

Thank God you've come.

Jack Murphy looked down into the red-rimmed eyes of his younger sister as she opened the door.

How is she Rose?

The doctor said she won't last the week, she sniffed. She's been asking for you.

Jack squeezed the girl's shoulder reassuringly and moved past her into the dingy room.

How long was it since he'd seen his mother? Four, five months? He was shocked by her gaunt appearance. Her lips were cracked and her once black hair was streaked with gray and lying limp about her face.

Jack sat beside her and took the bony hand she extended.

Jack, she whispered, tears coming to her eyes.

I'm here Ma.

She began to cough and struggled to rise.

Here, let me help you sit up. Rose, bring us a mug of water.

Jack propped his mother up in the bed and set the pillows behind her. She was as light as a child. He brought the mug to her lips and helped her to drink.

You would think after all the money they've made from you they'd give you a better room, he said, looking around with distaste.

Jack! said Rose, blushing.

It's alright child, said her mother hoarsely. I've not earned my keep for quite some time. If it wasn't for the money your brother sends I wouldn't even have this. They would have put me out on the streets. She coughed again and wiped her mouth with a blood-stained handkerchief.

Jack stood and stalked over to the window. Opening the curtain, he allowed light to filter through the dirty glass highlighting the streams of dust that swirled about. This wouldn't do.

Rose, he said, pulling a gold sovereign out of his pocket, go and buy a clean nightgown and handkerchiefs, and some food… oh, and see if you can find a woman to come and clean this room.

I was going to clean it myself, she began.

You have your own job to go to. You don't want to lose your position with Mrs Armstrong.

Rose, said her mother, don't let anyone see you leaving here. Remember your reputation.

Don't worry Ma, I'll be careful. I'll be back soon.

Colleen watched her daughter leave and sighed. At least she has been spared my fate, she said.

She turned her tired eyes to her son. John…, she began.

Jack looked up. She only used his proper name when she had something serious to say - or if he was in trouble.

Yes?

Promise me you'll look after her when I'm gone.

Of course Ma.

And try not to gamble too much.

He snorted. It's gambling that's kept a roof over your head and bought clothes for our Rose. I couldn't have done it on the wages Ferguson pays me as a blacksmith.

It's time you set up on your own son. Maybe once I'm gone you'll have more money to start your own shop.

He looked at her tenderly. Ma, I'm not in a hurry to be rid of you. He sat beside her once again, taking her hand. You'll outlive us all yet.

Don't be daft lad. She smiled and looked upon him with pride. At least I can go knowing I did everything I could for my children. You have a trade and Rose has a respectable position. I would have liked to see her married to a good man. Someone like your Pa.

Hmmf! He didn't exactly provide for you did he? We only survived because you sold yourself.

She turned away as the tears slid down her face.

I'm sorry Ma. He squeezed her hand and regretted his hasty words. I know you did everything you could, but when I see what it's cost you. You're old and dying before your time. You've not had much of a life… from servant to convict to... to this!

Aye, but there was a time in between when I was wife to a good man, she smiled. Do you remember our farm near Bathurst?

Some. I remember us building the house, and the animals.

Patrick worked so hard to buy that property for us. Our 'nest egg', he called it. It should have been yours. She coughed again and he brought more water to her lips.

I know Ma. If only he hadn't shot himself we would all be living the life of Riley.

She waited until he put the mug down.

John… She reached for his hand again, before Rose comes back, you deserve to know the truth about your Pa.

Jack's ice blue eyes narrowed. What do you mean?

Your Pa didn't shoot himself. I'm sorry... , she coughed again, I kept the truth from you children to protect you. I just don't want you to think badly of Patrick. He was a good man.

Protect us from what Ma? What happened?

She sighed and closed her eyes as the painful memory re-surfaced.

Your Pa borrowed money from the Regional Bank in Bathurst when he bought our land, she said softly. I was so proud of our little house. It wasn't very grand but we loved it. We had fruit trees and animals. You were small when we first moved there. Do you remember the tent we had, where Rose was born?

I think so Ma. What happened to the farm?

She took a wheezing breath and continued.

It was eighteen-thirty-eight. You would have been ten. Your Pa came back from the creek very excited. He'd found a gold nugget as big as his fist. He thought there would be more. After all, there were rumours of gold all around the district. We thought we were rich…

Tears came to her eyes and Jack squeezed her hand. Go on Ma.

"Patrick took the nugget to the Bank Manager to pay off our loan. The manager was supposed to have it valued. A week later we still hadn't heard anything but we had a visit from the local trooper, Sam Cowper. He claimed that he was seeking out bushrangers and suspected Patrick of being involved. It was a dirty lie and he knew it, but under the Bushranger Act he said he had the right to search for weapons. Of course your father had a rifle. He used it to hunt with.

Cowper claimed that this was proof that Patrick Murphy was a bushranger and as such, he had the right to shoot him on sight… and he did.

Jack gasped and looked at his mother with horror. All these years he'd been told his father had accidently shot himself, although he'd had his doubts. He rubbed his temples as he tried to take in the information.

What did the trap have against Pa? What reason would he have to do such a thing?

I wondered that myself, said his mother breathlessly, until Cowper came back two days later with Percy Bradshaw, the bank manager. Bradshaw claimed I had no means to pay back the loan and evicted me. I asked him about the nugget and he claimed to know nothing about it. Cowper warned me to be gone from the district within the week unless I wanted myself and my children to join my husband.

Jack looked up horrified. Was there no-one to help you?

She laughed without humour and coughed again. "Who would take my side? Our neighbour helped me bury Patrick, but he held no sway in the district. Do you remember Robert Carter? We were all former convicts. Who would believe your father was not a bushranger when he was accused by the law, as well as by the most powerful man in the district? Who would believe they had stolen our nugget and taken the farm by foul means?

No John, she whispered, fatigue and grief etched on her face, there was nobody who could take my side against them without meeting the same fate. I fled to Sydney with you and Rose and did what I had to do.

Oh Ma.

Jack held her while she cried, his mind reeling. All these years he'd wondered if his father had left them to their fate and taken the easy way out of his problems… left his children to fend for themselves on the streets while their mother was forced to sell her body. Only his mother's determination and self-sacrifice had gotten him into a trade, and his sister into service before she was forced to follow in her mother's footsteps.

The years of poverty and lack, of sharing dirty rooms with vermin - both two-legged and four-legged, of hating his father for leaving them… all of it for nothing. What would their lives have been like if they had kept their farm and fortune?

Eventually his mother slept and Jack eased her down on the bed.

He walked back to the window, raking his hand through his hair. Leaning on the sill he rested his forehead on the grimy glass and took a deep breath.

Sam Cowper and Percy Bradshaw.

He would remember those names.

*

Chapter 1

February 1852 - Weatherboard Inn, Jamisons Valley, Colony of New South Wales

Maryanne's lips parted as she gasped in shock, a blush of colour flooding her face.

What did he do? whispered Polly, turning to see what the rogue behind her had done now. She frowned disapprovingly, but by then the man had his face buried into the bosom of the plump barmaid.

Maryanne closed her mouth and swallowed. I… don't wish to say.

Don't look at him. Finish your breakfast before we're called to the coach.

Maryanne poked around at the brown lumps in the bowl. There was no telling what they had once been, but they had a long day ahead so she forced herself to eat a few more bites and swallowed the strong tea. She could always take the damper to eat on the way.

Polly started chattering away about the yards of ribbon and new bonnets she'd purchased in Sydney. Maryanne couldn't understand the passion some girls had for bonnets but nodded absently to her friend while she picked at the food.

She couldn't help herself.

Glancing over Polly's shoulder she looked into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, made more stark by the black lashes and brows that framed them. They were pale and clear like ice, but certainly not cold. They seemed to sparkle with amusement.

He still had the giggling barmaid in his grasp but his intense gaze passed over the girls' shoulder and settled on Maryanne. The corners of his mouth lifted to a cheeky grin and his tongue traced his upper teeth, then slowly licked its' way up the neck of the girl, from her shoulder to earlobe, as she squirmed and giggled.

Maryanne felt herself flush to the roots of her hair and took in a sharp breath.

He grinned again and winked at her.

What? said Polly, looking around again, but the man had his face hidden behind the girl once more.

Maryanne quickly looked down at the dregs of her stew but had lost her appetite.

A voice from the door saved her from further embarrassment.

All aboard the Bathurst coach!

Wrapping the damper in her handkerchief, she was relieved to follow Polly out of the Inn with the other passengers. She cast a quick look back into the room but the man was no longer there.

*

The coach bounced and jolted along the dirt road, making better time now that the journey was downhill. The sweeping view of the valley below had once again been lost behind the thick bushland surrounding them.

Maryanne sat wedged between Polly and a stout old woman in black. Another woman and two men sat opposite, the younger one frequently staring at Maryanne and trying to engage her in conversation. The family looked familiar. Perhaps she had seen them in church?

She would be glad to get to Bathurst and see her brother Richard again. She had even missed Arthur. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

I'm sure Arthur's looking forward to seeing you, said Polly, as if reading her thoughts.

I daresay.

In truth, she had been glad to spend some time away from him. Did that seem heartless?

You must put the poor man out of his misery, said Polly. Will you set a date now that we're back?

His persistence regarding a wedding date had become tiresome. She wondered how long she could put him off. The trip to Sydney to visit Polly's sister and newborn nephew had been her latest excuse for not having time to organise a wedding.

I don't know… It's all happening a little soon for me. I need more time.

Your father liked him - God rest his soul. And Richard likes him.

I suppose you like him too?

Polly blushed. "He's a good man. You like him don't you?"

Of course. He's very… reliable.

I should be glad to have a man like Arthur. Perhaps you will love him in time.

Perhaps.

Woah!

The shout of the driver and the sudden jolt from the slowing coach took them by surprise.

What is it? said Maryanne.

Polly opened the window and poked her head out, hanging onto her new bonnet. I think there's a tree fallen on the road. She flopped back into her seat and sighed.

The older gentleman opposite pulled out his watch and grumbled about the delay as the coach came to a jerking stop. A moment later they heard several horses approaching.

Everybody out! came a voice from outside.

"I hope they don't expect us to haul logs", said Polly, as the young passenger opened the door for her.

Bushrangers! exclaimed the older man. Stay in the coach my dear, he said to the woman beside him.

Polly hesitated at the door and looked up to see a man on a horse with a scarf tied around his face, and a gun pointing in their direction. Everybody out - now! he repeated. Do as yer told and ya won't be hurt.

Polly looked back at Maryanne who nodded nervously and followed her friend out of the coach.

The six passengers and the driver were gathered together by three men on horseback who surrounded them.

The older man from the coach stood protectively in front of his wife. What do you intend to do with us? I will not have you harm these ladies.

Another rider approached from out of the bush on a sleek, black gelding and the three riders moved aside to let him through.

I say! said the young man from the coach. Isn't that Castlereagh Boy? He was stolen three weeks ago from Penrith.

Indeed he is, said the rider from under his scarf, and a fine animal he is too. He tossed his reins to the man beside him and dismounted in one fluid movement.

He sauntered towards the huddled group and stood with his thumbs in his belt, his right hand tapping on the handle of a gun. He tilted back his hat slightly and ran his ice blue gaze over the huddled group.

Maryanne gasped as the familiar eyes locked onto hers and crinkled at the edges.

Ladies and Gentlemen, he said, I'll be troubling you for your valuables and then you can be on your way.

You will not get away with this, said the older man. "I'll have you know that I am on intimate acquaintance with