a six-month period.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Mr. Staines make any mention to you of the bonanza discovered upon the Aurora by the Chinaman John Quee?’
‘No.’
‘Were you aware, at the time of falsification, that Mr. Staines had falsified the Aurora’s quarterly report?’
‘No.’
‘When did you first become aware that the bonanza discovered in the cottage of the late Mr. Wells had originated from the Aurora mine?’
‘The same time everyone else did,’ said Carver. ‘When the bank published their records in the paper, saying that the ore had been found smelted, not pure, and that the smelting bore a signature.’
Broham nodded, then, coughing slightly, changed the subject. ‘Mr. Staines has testified that he holds you in poor esteem, Mr. Carver.’
‘Maybe he does,’ said Carver, ‘but he never spoke a word to me about it.’
‘Did you, as Mr. Staines alleges, assault Miss Wetherell on the eleventh of October?’
‘I slapped her face,’ said Carver. ‘That’s all.’
From the gallery, Moody heard a low growl of disapproval.
‘What provoked you to slap her face?’ said Broham.
‘She was insolent,’ said Carver.
‘Can you elaborate on that?’
‘I asked her for a direction, and she had a laugh at my expense, so I slapped her. It was the first and only time I ever laid a hand on her.’
‘Can you describe the encounter as you remember it, please?’
‘I was in Hokitika on business,’ Carver said, ‘and I thought I’d ride to Kaniere to have a look at the Aurora: the quarterly report had just come in, and I could see that the claim wasn’t pulling good dust, so I went to find out why. I met Miss Wetherell on the side of the road. She was up to the eyes in opium, and talking nonsense. I couldn’t get anything out of her, so I remounted and rode on.’
‘Mr. Staines has testified that Miss Wetherell lost her child that very same day.’
‘I don’t know anything about that,’ said Carver. ‘Last I saw her, she was still laughing, and stumbling about. Maybe she came to trouble after I left.’
‘Can you remember what you asked her, that afternoon?’
‘Yes. I wanted to find Wells,’ said Carver.
‘Why were you seeking news of Mr. Wells?’
‘I had a private matter to discuss with him,’ said Carver. ‘I hadn’t seen him since May, and I didn’t know where to find him, or who to ask. As Lydia said, he up and quit Dunedin in the night. Didn’t tell anyone where he was going.’
‘Did Miss Wetherell divulge Mr. Wells’s whereabouts to you at that time?’
‘No,’ said Carver. ‘She only laughed. That was why I slapped her.’
‘Do you believe that Miss Wetherell knew where Mr. Wells was living, and that she was concealing this information from you for a specific purpose?’
Carver thought about this, but then he shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Wouldn’t want to say.’
‘What was the nature of the business you wished to discuss with Mr. Wells?’
‘Insurance,’ said Carver.
‘In what respect?’
He shrugged, to indicate the answer was of no consequence. ‘The barque
‘Were you and Mr. Wells on good terms?’
‘Fair,’ said Carver. ‘I’d call them fair. It’s no secret that I was sweet on his wife, and quick to put my hand up when he passed, but I never came between them. I was decent to Wells, and Wells was decent to me.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Broham to the justice. ‘Thank you, Mr. Carver.’
‘Your witness, Mr. Moody.’
Moody stood up promptly. ‘Mr. Carver,’ he said. ‘When did you and Mrs. Carver first become acquainted?’
‘We have known each other almost twenty years,’ said Carver.
‘In other words, over the entire course of her marriage to the late Mr. Wells.’
‘Yes.’
‘I wonder if you might describe the circumstances of your engagement to Mrs. Carver.’
‘I’ve known Lydia since I was a young man,’ said Carver, ‘and we’d always thought we’d marry. But then I got ten years on Cockatoo, and during that time she fell in with Wells. By the time I got my leave ticket, they were married. I couldn’t fault her. Ten years is a long time to wait. I couldn’t fault him either. I know what calibre of woman she is. But I said to myself, if that marriage ever comes to an end, I’ll be next in line.’
‘You married shortly after Mr. Wells’s death, is that right?’
Carver stared at him. ‘There was nothing disrespectful about it,’ he said.
Moody inclined his head. ‘No, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if I implied otherwise. Allow me to backtrack a little. When was it that you were released from prison?’
‘June of ’sixty-four,’ said Carver. ‘Nearly two years ago now.’
‘What did you do, upon your release from Cockatoo Island?’
‘I made for Dunedin,’ said Carver. ‘Found myself some work on a ship making the trans-Tasman run. That was
‘Were you captaining this craft?’
‘Crew,’ said Carver. ‘But I made captain the following year.’
‘Mr. Wells was digging the field at Dunstan at this time, is that correct?’
Carver hesitated. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘And Mrs. Carver—then wife of Mr. Wells—was residing in Dunedin.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see Mrs. Wells often, over this period?’
‘I had a drink at her place every now and again,’ said Carver. ‘She kept a tavern on Cumberland-street. But I was mostly at sea.’
‘In May of 1865, Crosbie Wells returned to Dunedin,’ said Moody. ‘I understand that he made a purchase at that time.’
Carver knew very well that he was being led into a trap, but he was powerless to stop it. ‘Yes,’ he said, curtly. ‘He bought
‘Quite a purchase,’ said Moody, nodding, ‘not the least because it was made so abruptly. The fact that he chose to invest in a ship, of all things, is also curious. Had Mr. Wells any prior interest in seafaring, I wonder?’
‘Couldn’t tell you,’ said Carver. ‘But he must have done, if he made the purchase.’
Moody paused; then he said, ‘I understand that the deed of sale is currently in your possession.’
‘It is.’
‘How did it come to be in your possession, please?’
‘Mr. Wells entrusted it to me,’ said Carver.
‘When did he entrust this deed to you?’
‘At the time of sale,’ said Carver.
‘Which was …?’
‘In May,’ said Carver. ‘Last year.’
‘Immediately before Mr. Wells quit Dunedin, in other words, and relocated to the Arahura Valley.’
Carver could not deny it. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘What was Mr. Wells’s reason, in entrusting this deed of sale to you?’ said Moody.
