The Luminaries

drug.’

‘Mrs. Wells won’t permit it in the house,’ Anna said, swiping a strand of hair from her face. She fetched the biscuit tin from the pantry shelf.

‘She is right to be strict,’ Devlin said, ‘but it is you who deserves congratulation. You must have shown great fortitude, in throwing off your dependency. I have known grown men who have not managed such a feat.’

Whenever Devlin was nervous, his speech became very formal and correct.

‘I just stopped,’ Anna said.

‘Yes,’ Devlin said, nodding, ‘an abrupt cessation is the only way, of course. But you must have battled every kind of temptation, in the days and weeks afterward.’

‘No,’ Anna said. ‘I just didn’t need it any more.’

‘You are too modest.’

‘I’m not mincing,’ Anna said. ‘I kept going, for a while—until the lump ran out. I ate all of it. But I just couldn’t feel it any more.’

Devlin appraised her with a calculating look. ‘Have you found that your health has much improved, since your cessation?’

‘I expect it has,’ Anna said, fanning the biscuits in an arc over the plate. ‘I’m well enough.’

‘I am sorry to contradict you, Miss Wetherell, but you do not seem at all well.’

‘You mean I’m too thin.’

‘You are very thin, my dear.’

‘I’m cold,’ said Anna. ‘I’m always cold these days.’

‘I expect that is on account of your being very thin.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I expect so too.’

‘I have observed,’ Devlin said after a moment, ‘in persons of low morale—particularly those who have contemplated suicide—that the loss of appetite is a common symptom.’

‘I have an appetite,’ she said. ‘I eat. I just can’t seem to keep the weight on.’

‘Do you eat every day?’

‘Three meals,’ she said, ‘two of them hot. I manage the cooking for both of us.’

‘Mrs. Wells must be very grateful,’ Devlin said, speaking in a tone that made it clear he did not entirely believe her.

‘Yes,’ she said, vaguely. She turned away to fetch cups and saucers from the rack above the washboard.

‘Will you continue in your present circumstances after Mrs. Wells is married?’ Devlin inquired.

‘I expect so.’

‘I imagine that Mr. Carver will take up residence here.’

‘Yes, I believe he means to.’

‘Their engagement was announced in the West Coast Times this morning. It was a very modest announcement; even, one might have said, subdued. But a wedding is always a happy event.’

‘I love a wedding,’ Anna said.

‘Yes,’ said Devlin. ‘A happy event—no matter what the circumstances.’

It had been suggested, following the scandal precipitated by George Shepard’s letter to the editor of the West Coast Times one month ago, that only remarriage could ameliorate the damage the widow’s reputation had sustained. Mrs. Wells’s claim upon Crosbie Wells’s inheritance had been considerably weakened by the revelation that she had made him a cuckold in the years before his death, and her position had been weakened still further by the fact that Alistair Lauderback had made a full and very frank confession. In a public reply to George Shepard, Lauderback admitted that he had concealed the fact of the affair from the voting public, to whom he offered his sincere apologies. He wrote that he had never been more ashamed of himself, and that he accepted full responsibility for all consequences, and that until the day he died he would regret that he had arrived at Mr. Wells’s cottage half an hour too late to beg the man’s forgiveness. The confession had its desired effect; indeed, by the outpouring of sympathy and admiration that followed it, some even supposed Lauderback’s reputation to have been improved.

Anna had finished arranging the saucers. ‘Let us go into the parlour,’ she said. ‘I’ll hear the kettle when it boils.’

She left the tray, and padded back down the corridor to the parlour, which was set up for the widow’s afternoon appointments, with the two largest armchairs drawn very close to one another, and the curtains closed. Devlin waited for Anna to sit before he did so himself, and then he opened his Bible and withdrew the charred deed of gift from between its pages. He handed it to her without a word.

On this 11th day of October 1865 a sum of two thousand pounds is to be given to MISS ANNA WETHERELL, formerly of New South Wales, by MR. EMERY STAINES, formerly of New South Wales, as witnessed by MR. CROSBIE WELLS, presiding.

Anna took up the deed with a rather glazed look: she was all but illiterate, and did not expect to make sense of the words in a single glance. She knew her alphabet, and could sound out a line of print if she worked very slowly and in a very good light; it was a laborious task, however, and she made many errors. But in the next moment she snatched it up, and, with an exclamation of surprise, held it close to her eyes.

‘I can read this,’ she said, speaking almost in a whisper.

Devlin did not know that Anna had never learned to read, and this pronouncement was not remarkable to him. ‘I found this document in the bottom of Crosbie Wells’s stove the day after his death,’ he said. ‘As you can see, it is an extraordinary sum of money—still more because the sum is intended as a bequest—and I confess I do not know quite what to make of it. I must warn you at the outset that, in terms of legality, the document is not good. Mr. Staines did not sign his name, which, in turn, makes Mr. Wells’s signature invalid. The witness cannot sign before the principal.’

Anna said nothing. She was still looking at the paper.

‘Have you ever seen this document before?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Did you know of its existence?’

‘No!’

Devlin was alarmed: she had almost shouted the word. ‘What is it?’ he said.

‘I just—’ Her hand went to her throat. ‘May I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘Have you ever—I mean, in your experience—’ She stopped herself, bit her lip, and began again. ‘Do you know why I can read this?’

His eyes were searching hers. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘I never learned to read,’ Anna explained, ‘not properly. I mean—I can sound out a line of letters—and I know labels and signs; but that’s more like remembering than reading, because I see them every day. I could never read a paper. Not front to back. It would take me hours and hours. But this—I can read it. Without any effort, I mean. Quick as thinking.’

‘Read it out loud.’

She did, fluently.

Devlin was frowning. ‘Are you quite sure that you have never seen this document before?’

‘Quite sure,’ Anna said.

‘Did you know already that Mr. Staines intended to give you two thousand pounds?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘What about Mr. Wells? Did you ever speak with Mr. Wells about it?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you: it’s the first I’ve seen of it.’

‘Perhaps,’ Devlin said, ‘if you had been told about it—but you had forgotten …’

‘I wouldn’t forget a dirty great fortune,’ said Anna.

Devlin paused, watching her. Then he said, ‘One hears stories of children with Continental nannies, waking