The Gallant by William Stuart Long

your tongue, Kit!
    Don’t forget, this evening’s celebrations are to mark the victory of Great Britain and her allies in the Crimea and the signing of a peace treaty with Russia. Which is an
    occasion for rejoicing that no one can deny, not even the Irish, whose soldiers were there too. The Inmskilling Dragoons, the Connaught Rangers, the Green Horse … and that light cavalry charge was a damned fine thing, you know. Don’t decry it.”
    “I’m not decrying it,” Kitty denied. “It’s only that …” She did not complete her sentence, but, with intuitive understanding, her brother put out his hand to clasp hers.
    “Just be your own charming self,” he advised her gently. “And win their hearts and their cooperation. I must contrive to get to Norfolk Island somehow, Kit, and I’ve heard it rumored that one of the naval frigates is under orders to proceed there within the next week or two, to assist in the evacuation of the convicts. I told you that, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, you told me. You said you thought it was Her Majesty’s ship
    Galah,
    whose commander is a certain Captain Broome-whom everyone calls Red Broome, from which I presume he must have red hair. Well, provided I am able to recognize him and obtain an introduction, I will do all in my power to win his cooperation.” Kitty smiled at him, her normal good humor at least partially restored. “But it is taking so

long
    to find out anything, Pat!”
    “We must be cautious, little sister. You know as well as I do that we cannot afford to take risks,”
    Patrick reminded her.
    “Oh, yes, I know,” Kitty conceded
    unhappily. The long, idle weeks of their voyage out had tried her patience sorely, and it troubled her conscience that almost another three weeks had passed since they had disembarked in Sydney, with virtually nothing achieved.
    They had rented a pleasant house some distance from the center of the city, on the South Head Road overlooking Double Bay; they had hired this carriage and, after some difficulty, engaged two indifferent house servants, but … Kitty glanced at her brother and then away, an anxious frown creasing her brow. Until they were able to ascertain Michael’s exact whereabouts, there was little they could do to aid him, and such inquiries as they were able to make had, so far, revealed only the fact that he had attempted to escape and, on being recaptured, had been sentenced to penal servitude on the dreaded William Stuart Long
    Norfolk Island. The people of Sydney called it Island of the Damned, a terrible place of exile where … Kitty’s lower lip trembled. Where punishment was said to be only just short of death. And because she and Patrick dared not admit their relationship to him, they did not know whether their brother Michael was alive or dead. Or, if he had survived the appallingly harsh treatment meted out to the Norfolk Island prisoners, he might have been evacuated to one of the mainland jails.
    “There’s the diary,” Patrick said, seeming to read her thoughts. “The diary the man O’Brien told us of-the one he hid in his cell and which is still there, in all probability, unless they’ve pulled down the prison buildings. I

have
    to get to Norfolk Island, Kit, before the evacuation is completed. Someone there must know where Michael is.”
    “Or if he’s dead,” Kitty put in
    bitterly. “The letter O’Brien gave us was written two years ago.
    Two years!
    I-was She broke off, her voice choked. “If we had only known sooner-if we had known that he was going to be sent to Norfolk Island! Instead of believing Michael when he wrote that he was engaged as tutor to a wealthy landowner’s children and living in luxury!”
    “We had no means of knowing, Kit. And we’ve been into this a hundred times. It will do no good to blame ourselves, truly it will not. We came out here as soon as we could after O’Brien brought us Michael’s last letter.” Patrick’s strong fingers tightened about hers. “God