Force and Fraud (15 page)

“I think it right to tell you that I am engaged to Mr Lindsey, and that I embrace his cause in the conviction of his innocence,” said Flora to Mrs Garlick, “otherwise I should not be warranted in the step I am about to take; and I hope you will not object to accompany me and my solicitor to Mr Argueville's chambers tomorrow morning.”

Mrs Garlick assented; and, at the appointed hour, the two ladies waited on the barrister.

Mr Argueville had already received instructions and a fee through Flora's attorney. One of these he pocketed, the other he put aside. The letter containing the instructions was very short, merely stating the wish of the writer to retain the services of the learned counsel, and adding that all particulars would be hereafter supplied. It was signed “F. McAlpin;” but as
F.
might stand for either Francis or Frederick, and the writing was rather bold, the lawyer did not suppose his correspondent to be of the fair sex. There was a want of legal etiquette, and a tone of authority about the epistle, that betokened ignorance of, or indifference to, professional formalities, causing Mr Argueville, to whom it had been handed, to say to his clerk, “Some of these fellows in the bush would be none the worse for a lesson or two.”

He was also a little puzzled about another subject: the name of the murdered man and that of the prisoner's friend being the same. But being engaged with a knotty case at the time, he did not give these matters much consideration.

His surprise, however, had reached its climax when he saw in his new client a young lady, who, upon being introduced to him, said: “Mr Argueville, I
know
Mr Lindsey to be innocent, and desire to prove his innocence to the world. It may appear strange to you that the daughter of the murdered man should step forward to assist the person imprisoned for the commission of the crime; but I know
that imprisonment
to be unjust. I am his affianced wife – a contract sanctioned by my mother on her death-bed – and I think you will admit that I am justified in this proceeding.” Flora spoke in a low earnest tone; no blush o'er-spread her cheek as she told of her engagement; but she raised her eyes to heaven with an expression of fervour and devotedness.

The barrister felt deeply interested, and promised to do his utmost in the case; but when she retired he remarked, “There are some fools who will ridicule this noble creature, and call her a strong-minded woman.”

 

If Flora compelled herself to speak so freely to Mr Argueville, she was doing violence to her own feelings, and, in consequence, suffered from the effects of reaction. Mrs Garlick, who had been rather shocked at so much decision in a girl of twenty-one, said
“She
couldn't have spoken out in such a way for all the world.”

Flora carelessly replied, “No, I don't suppose you could.” Then, as two or three lady friends of Mrs Garlick dropt in, she retired to her room, and thus their curiosity respecting the
strong-minded young lady
remained ungratified.

The next day Mr Silverton arrived, and for the first time, was received with mixed feelings of joy and sorrow; as, although he stated that the object of his journey was to look after a shipment of wool, he was suspected of being much more enticed by the society of Miss McAlpin.

Miss Bessie, who had been skirmishing about for some time, was resolved on a
coup d'etat,
and therefore bluntly told her imagined admirer that
she
didn't think he'd have much chance in
that
quarter, as her mamma said Miss McAlpin had frankly avowed her engagement.

“She wished for an excuse in thus openly undertaking the defence of poor Lindsey,” replied Silverton, “and if it will serve his cause, I have no objection that the engagement should still be regarded as unbroken. But, in consequence of her father's will and another matter to which I cannot becomingly refer at present, I may inform you that Miss McAlpin
will never marry Herbert Lindsey
.”

The gentleman looked mysterious, the lady angry – and they parted; the former to seek Flora, the latter to resume her preparations for the bazaar.

Pierce had brought a letter from the imprisoned lover; and, either on that account, or from real pleasure in his society, was received by Flora with undisguised satisfaction. Miss McAlpin, who, under ordinary circumstances, acted as girls ordinarily do, volunteered to dress a doll and knit a purse in aid of the bazaar, though she scarcely inquired into the object of the charity; and as the family was collected around the table after tea, Pierce took his place by her side, fondly watching the nimble movements of her delicate fingers. She seemed very well pleased that he should be there, perhaps because she felt (as she had expressed herself to him) ‘bored with those hypocritical girls'; perhaps from some other cause that she had
not
expressed. Occasionally he addressed her in a low tone. Miss Bessie thought she overheard the name of Lindsey, but was positive about the word
marriage
. She saw Miss McAlpin blush; and Mr Silverton smile – he really looked handsome. (We have already stated that his appearance was agreeable, and, as a rule, it
is
becoming to be in love.) The Misses Garlick had all remarked that Pierce seemed to be in stronger health and much gayer than usual, and they naturally attributed the change to Flora's presence.

“I'll spite him for his flirtation, that I will,” said Miss Bessie to her second sister, as they were packing up the articles designed for their stall at the bazaar.

“I wouldn't do anything if I were you, Bessie, people will be sure to say you were jealous,” replied Miss Susannah; who, being engaged herself, was so wrapped up in her own prospects as to be indifferent to those of others.

“People may mind their own business; I'll do as I like,” answered Bessie; and, remembering the eagerness of Mr Silverton to obtain the snuff-box, she determined to cross him in that respect at least.

And now drums and trumpets proclaimed to the good people of Melbourne that a bazaar was about to be opened!
Why
such a fact should be announced with so much hilarity seems just as reasonable as the
demonstration
with which ‘the king drinks to Hamlet'. But so it was, and gaily dressed ladies were seen hastening to a certain building at the western extremity of Melbourne.

It was a very hot day, a north wind blowing, and sending a cloud of dust before it, which by no means improved the stylish bonnets and jaunty hats, bought expressly for the bazaar. Sometimes the gust would rend open the flimsy covering of tissue papers that enveloped treasures destined for the fancifully decorated stalls; but the ladies were too zealous to be deterred by either dust or hot winds, and so they drove or walked up the steep hill, and mounted the sandy eminence crowned by that nondescript edifice.

Several august visitors honoured the bazaar with their presence, and the National Anthem testified to the loyalty of Victorians; but
these
visitors, caused the attendance of some officers in uniform, which caused such a number of young ladies to come pouring in who, in their turn attracted a few strangers; yes, even that most uncomfortable of all bipeds: the ‘new chum'.

“Haw, haw! 'Spose we take a turn about that wooden building, and patronise the, hum, what's going on?” says a swell, attired in broadcloth and bell-topper, to a friend, who, for the first time, has donned a suit of grass-cloth.

The ‘new chums' enter the building, assuming that air of superiority so peculiar to a certain class of Englishmen till they find out that there are people in the world as good as themselves. After paying a shilling each, they are immediately pressed with a letter apiece (postage, 2s.6d). One of these epistles contains a
mal-a-propos
quotation, the other gives the gentlemen information respecting the state of his own heart. The strangers wander up and down between two rows of miniature toy shops, which all more or less resemble four-poster bedsteads tricked out with coloured calico, strips of mosquito net, artificial flowers, and green boughs. The atmosphere is rather heavy with the strong odour of Australian shrubs, but the place is gay enough, and – who'd believe it? – our friends acknowledge that some of those women are really as good looking as any you would meet
out of London,
and much better dressed; so, perhaps, there may be something decent in Australia after all! We will leave them to the care of the ladies, who soon let them know that all the Christian
precept
relative to the taking in the stranger had not been forgotten in Australian
practice.

And now, having no money to spend ourselves, we will just inquire if the pockets of that old Scotch shepherd are better lined than our own, or, if not, what could possibly have induced
him
to visit a bazaar.

“Good morning to you, Andrew Ross. You don't look as if you had forgotten your old master, Angus McAlpin, though he was such a tyrant.”

“Na, na,” replies friend Andrew, “I dinna forget the laird. I forget naething that minds me o' auld Scotland; and it's just that air that brings me here the day.”

“
Bonnie Prince Charlie
! Ah, my friend, that air and
that
Prince have laid ancestors of yours in their graves.”

We
do
venerate old associations, so we sit down with you on the steps of the platform, and ask a few more questions.

“The ship in which your daughter has come out is in quarantine at the Heads, is she? Well, never mind, she'll be released very soon. How now! What ails the man? What does he see in that very old-fashioned snuff-box, which Miss Bessie has put in a wax-flower case, and suspended from the centre of her stall, adding the quotation, “Bonnie braw John Highland man!”

We'll take a glass of lemonade at the refreshment stall whilst Andrew Ross pays his
devoirs
to Miss Bessie Garlick.

The young lady smiles very charmingly, and producing a green velvet smoking-cap with a gold tassel, asks if the gentleman would like to buy it, adding, “Everyone who smokes
must
have such an article.”

Not quite true that, Miss Bessie, or there'd be a rise on velvet and gold thread.

But, says old Andy, “Na, I dinna smoke – I snuff; and I hae a liking to that box.”

“That box! Well, you shall have it for two pound.”

“Twa pund's a deal o' money for a pur mon; but it war the Laird's, and the last day he left his hame…” A tear glistens in the dark grey eye of the old shepherd, and, drawing forth a small leathern bag, he takes out two one-pound notes.

Bessie Garlick, who is a good-hearted girl, notwithstanding a few peculiarities, does not like to take the old man's savings; so, reaching down the box, says, “You shall have it for ten shillings if you can prove it to have belonged to Mr McAlpin.”

“I never tell a lie. Miss,” replies the shepherd.

“I don't mean to hint at such a thing, but Mr Silverton told me it belonged to him, and was given to him by a man who went to England lately. I can't understand why he should care about such an ugly box. And as for
that
man – he was decidedly the most odious wretch I ever saw.”

“The box was the Laird's far a' that Miss; and here's his name.”

Andrew Ross is showing Bessie a little silver plate under the lid which, being near the hinge, had escaped her notice. But now she distinctly reads,
Angus McAlpin
; and says, “Here take it, I only wanted to plague Mr Silverton.”

She gives old Andrew the disputed article, but cannot stay talking to him any longer, as some more aristocratic purchasers are at hand.

The snuff-box is of little intrinsic value, but it is dear to Andrew Ross for it was in the possession of his master up to the day of his death. And many, many years ago – one evening when the Laird and his shepherd were both young and whilst wandering over their native hills – Mr McAlpin picked up a pebble, known as the
Cairngorm.
Fancying it to be of more than usual brilliancy, he had it set in the lid of a snuff-box. Perhaps the conversation that took place on that day might have been peculiarly interesting to both parties, as there always seemed to be an association connected with the box; so much indeed, that McAlpin promised to leave it as a legacy to his faithful shepherd. And now,
those days
– the days when Angus McAlpin wooed
his Lucy
, and Andrew Ross
his Jessie
– seemed to return; and half sorrowful, half pleased, the shepherd leaves the gay scene, but good news awaits him without. The emigrant ship is released from quarantine, and the father hastens to welcome his child; may joy attend them both.

Scarcely had Andrew Ross made his exit by one door ere Pierce Silverton entered by another and, after strolling carelessly along, he came up to the stall of the Misses Garlick. He had, of course, been assailed
en voyage
by a shoal of saucy little girls, who are in the habit of going up and down, thrusting their shoulders out of their frocks, and hawking flowers or tawdry cushions, or something equally useless. At length, having got rid of this small fry, so troublesome to the quidnuncs of bazaars, Mr Silverton was at liberty to compliment his fair friends on the exquisite taste of their arrangements; and then, after propitiating them by making several purchases, he said to Miss Bessie, “And now my snuff-box, if you please.”

“Yours! I've found you out, Mr Silverton. It wasn't yours at all. It belonged to Mr McAlpin, and I've just sold it to an old Scotchman, who got very sentimental on the occasion.”

“Sold it, the d–”

“Mr Silverton!”

Well might the fair Bessie exclaim, for it was the first time she had heard anything like an oath from
his
lips.

“I beg your pardon,” apologised the gentleman, “but it is enough to put any one out of temper to come broiling here on a day like this.”

“I dare say you wouldn't have grumbled if Miss McAlpin had come with you.”