The Luminaries

‘Quite alone.’

‘That is very brave of you, Miss Wetherell—it is excessively brave! I am cheered to know that you were not wanting for female company on your crossing, but now I should like to know at once whether you have secured lodging, here in Dunedin. There are a great many disreputable hotels in this city. Someone as pretty as you has a great need of good advice from a good quarter.’

‘I thank you for your kind concern,’ Anna said. ‘I meant to stop in at Mrs. Penniston’s; that is where I am bound this afternoon.’

The other woman looked aghast. ‘Mrs. Penniston’s!’

‘The place was recommended to me,’ said Anna, frowning. ‘Can you not also recommend it?’

‘Alas—I cannot,’ said Mrs. Wells. ‘If you had mentioned any lodging house in the city but Mrs. Penniston’s! She is a very low woman, Miss Wetherell. A very low woman. You must keep your distance from the likes of her.’

‘Oh,’ said Anna, taken aback.

‘Tell me again why you have come to Dunedin,’ said Mrs. Wells, speaking warmly now.

‘I came because of the rushes,’ Anna said. ‘Everyone says there’s more gold in a camp than there is in the ground. I thought I’d be a camp follower.’

‘Do you mean to find employment—as a barmaid, perhaps?’

‘I can tend bar,’ Anna said. ‘I’ve done hotel work. I’ve a steady hand, and I’m honest.’

‘Have you a reference?’

‘A good one, ma’am. From the Empire Hotel in Union-street, in Sydney.’

‘Excellent,’ said Mrs. Wells. She looked Anna up and down, smiling.

‘If you cannot endorse Mrs. Penniston’s,’ Anna began, but Mrs. Wells interrupted her.

‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘I have the perfect solution—to solve both our dilemmas—yours and mine! It has just come to me! My Miss Mackay has paid for a week’s lodging, and she is not here to occupy the room she paid for in advance. You must take it. You must come and be my Miss Mackay, until we find you some employment, and set you on your feet.’

‘That is very kind, Mrs. Wells,’ said Anna, stepping back, ‘but I couldn’t possibly accept such a handsome … I couldn’t impose upon your charity.’

‘Oh, hush your protestations,’ said Mrs. Wells, taking Anna’s elbow. ‘When we are the very best of friends, Miss Wetherell, we shall look back upon this day and call it serendipity—that we chanced upon one another in this way. I am a great believer in serendipity! And a great many other things. But what am I doing, chattering away? You must be famished—and aching for a hot bath. Come along. I shall take wonderful care of you, and once you are rested, I shall find you some work.’

‘I don’t mean to beg,’ Anna said. ‘I’m not going begging.’

‘You haven’t begged for anything at all,’ said Lydia Wells. ‘What a sweet child you are. Here—porter!’

A snub-nosed boy ran forward.

‘Have Miss Wetherell’s trunk delivered to number 35, Cumberland-street,’ said Mrs. Wells.

The snub-nosed boy grinned at this; he turned to Anna, looked her up and down, and then pulled his forelock with exaggerated courtesy. Lydia Wells did not comment upon this piece of impudence, but she fixed the porter with a very severe look as she handed him a sixpence from her purse. Then she put her arm around Anna’s shoulders, and, smiling, led her away.

EXALTED IN ARIES

In which the defendant waxes philosophical; Mr. Moody gains the upper hand; Lauderback gives a recitation; and the Carvers are caught in a lie.

The afternoon sessions began promptly at one o’clock.

‘Mr. Staines,’ said the justice, after the boy had been sworn in. ‘You have been indicted for three charges: firstly, the falsification of the January 1866 quarterly report. How do you plead?’

‘Guilty, sir.’

‘Secondly, the embezzlement of ore lawfully submitted by your employee Mr. John Long Quee against the goldmine Aurora, since discovered in the dwelling belonging to the late Mr. Crosbie Wells, of the Arahura Valley. How do you plead?’

‘Guilty, sir.’

‘And lastly, dereliction of duty to claims and mines requiring daily upkeep, the period of your absence being in excess of eight weeks. How do you plead?’

‘Guilty, sir.’

‘Guilty all round,’ said the justice, sitting back. ‘All right. You can be seated for the moment, Mr. Staines. We have Mr. Moody for the defendant, again, and Mr. Broham for the plaintiff, assisted by Mr. Fellowes and Mr. Harrington of the Magistrate’s Court. Mr. Broham: your statement please.’

As before, Broham’s statement was one designed to discredit the defendant, and as before, it was excessively long-winded. He itemised all the trouble that had been caused by Staines’s absence, casting Wells’s widow, in particular, as a tragic figure whose hopes had been falsely raised by the promise of a windfall inheritance that she had mistakenly (but reasonably) supposed to be a part of her late husband’s estate. He spoke of the inherent corruption of wealth, and referred to both fraud and embezzlement as ‘those clear-sighted, cold- blooded crimes’. Moody’s statement, when he gave it, asserted simply that Staines was very aware of the trouble he had caused by his extended absence, and very willing to pay for all damages or debts incurred as a result.

‘Mr. Broham,’ said Justice Kemp, when he was done. ‘Your witness.’

Broham rose. ‘Mr. Staines.’ He held up a piece of paper in the manner of one brandishing a warrant for arrest, and said, ‘I have here a document submitted by Nilssen & Co., Commission Merchants, which inventories the estate of the late Mr. Crosbie Wells. The estate, as recorded by Mr. Nilssen, includes a great deal of pure ore, since valued by the bank at four thousand and ninety-six pounds exactly. What can you tell me about this bonanza?’

Staines answered without hesitation. ‘The ore was found upon the claim known as the Aurora,’ he said, ‘which, until recently, belonged to me. It was excavated by my employee Mr. Quee in the middle months of last year. Mr. Quee retorted the metal into squares, as was his personal custom, and then submitted these squares to me as legal earnings. When I received the bonanza, I did not bank it against the Aurora as I was legally obliged to do. Instead I bagged it up, took it to the Arahura Valley, and buried it.’

He spoke calmly, and without conceit.

‘Why the Arahura, specifically?’ said Broham.

‘Because you can’t prospect on Maori land, and most of the Arahura belongs to the Maoris,’ said Staines. ‘I thought it would be safest there—at least for a while; until I came back and dug it up again.’

‘What did you intend to do with the bonanza?’

‘I planned to cut it down the middle,’ said Staines, ‘and keep half of it for myself. The other half I meant to give to Miss Wetherell, as a gift.’

‘Why should you wish to do such a thing?’

He looked puzzled. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, sir.’

‘What did you mean to achieve, Mr. Staines, by presenting Miss Wetherell with this sum of money?’

‘Nothing at all,’ said the boy.

‘You meant to achieve nothing at all?’

‘Yes, exactly,’ said Staines, brightening a little. ‘It wouldn’t be a gift otherwise, would it?’

‘That fortune,’ said Broham, raising his voice above the scattered laughter, ‘was later discovered in the cottage belonging to the late Crosbie Wells. How did this relocation come about?’

‘I don’t know for sure. I expect that he dug it up and took it for himself.’