Force and Fraud (27 page)

And thus, forming vain schemes for future bliss, he spent many a solitary hour. Some people called him a lazy fellow, but others took his part, saying it was needful for him to rest in the day, as he did not rest at night.

But he was again aroused from these sweet visions, and this time by a man who entered the apartment through the little gate on the verandah.

Seeing a dark shadow, Pierce started from his couch. A shadow of coming evil it seemed to be, or why did the cold drops of perspiration stand on his pale forehead, as he exclaimed, “You here? What brings you to me?”

“Want of money, Mr Silverton; that often makes a man do many a queer thing, as I think you ought to know by this time,” answered the stranger.

“What do you mean? I do none of those things you call queer for money,” replied Silverton angrily.

“No,” said the man, with an insolent grin. “You are too much of a gentleman for that, and too much of a Christian not to help a poor fellow. So you'll just have to help me.”

“Again, so soon? I shall be ruined at this rate.”

“You'll be ruined if you don't, Mr Silverton.” The man, rapping his nose with his broad forefinger, looked the impersonation of vulgar defiance.

“Well, wait here, and I'll see what is to be done. There's some brandy, and now keep yourself quiet till I come back.” So saying, Mr Silverton, after securing both entrances to the room, went away. His absence lasted some considerable time, and the twilight was far advanced when he returned. “Come along,” he then said to the stranger; the man nodded in reply, and immediately followed his patron.

At a late hour in the night, Pierce Silverton re-entered by the window, and, throwing himself on the sofa, exclaimed, “My God! Is this persecution to last forever?”

“Crofts, my man, this won't do at all: a horse, valued at a hundred guineas, gone out of the stable whilst you were spinning your tarnation yarns to those girls in the kitchen. Do you think I shall stand that?” exclaimed Mr Roberts, in an angry tone, to an old man who had recently entered his service.

“I do not know how it happened, sir,” replied the man. “But I'll take my oath I locked the stable door last night.”

“After
the horse was stolen, I suppose.”

“No, Mr Roberts,
before,
and that I'll swear to,” said Harry. “I was with Crofts; indeed it was I that
did
lock the door, because he had his hands full of candles and things.”

“You
did, did you, Saunders? Well, I can't doubt
your
word,” said the landlord.

“And it's the first time
mine
was ever doubted, sir,” added the stranger sorrowfully.

“Why, you see my man it won't do to trust strangers in a colony like this, though you do look like an honest fellow, and I don't want to be hard upon you, especially as you were recommended by Mr Manners; but there's no time to be lost. Eh, there – police!”

On being joined by the official, Mr Roberts walked away with him to take steps for the recovery of the animal and the apprehension of the thief.

This little incident, as it may be supposed, collected a crowd in the courtyard of the hotel. In the first place, a number of people were anxious to clear themselves of all suspicion; and, in the second, those who could not be suspected were equally ready to their suggestions and advice. The boarders left the breakfast table, the servants their work, and a number of people from all parts of the township thronged about the doors. Some of the late risers came hurrying down stairs one by one, and amongst these was Mr Silverton looking unusually pale and ill. But he, like all those who kept a horse in the stables of
The Southern Cross
, went to see if
it
had been stolen. Indeed, from the general solicit anyone would imagine that a whole army of plunderers had invaded the premises, instead of a solitary individual. But the gentlemen having satisfied themselves as to the safety of their own particular steeds, returned to the breakfast table, where they found neither the coffee, the rashers, nor any of the other delicacies the better for the incident; although the cat might be, as she was helping herself to a dish of garfish.

Puss being driven out, and the waiter called in, the gentlemen, generally speaking, gave proof that the misfortune of Mr Roberts was born with considerable philosophy – by them. Perhaps Mr Silverton took it more to heart, as he did not eat, though he recovered sufficiently to ride off at the usual hour to Mount Alpin; and, on his return from thence to undertake a journey to Melbourne.

It is true that he had a great deal of business there, which we will leave him to transact, as we have to accompany Mr Manners to his home – a pleasant one in every respect, and pleasantly situated amongst corn-fields and vineyards – being likewise the home of a charming wife and four lovely children.

Charles Manners was a happy man, which he deserved to be, but he was also a man of importance –
the
great man of the neighbourhood. This he likewise deserved a great deal better than most people who have honours showered upon them. Perhaps, at that time, Mr Manners would rather have been without these honours, as they called him away from his domestic circle too soon after his return. Having undertaken the onerous duties of a public man, though, he was not a person to neglect them; and, therefore, he may be excused if he was somewhat strict with those who were less scrupulous. Amongst the individuals whom he intended to keep up to a fulfilment of duty, was Mr Lindsey; and very properly, too, for it would be shame, after all the sacrifices Flora had made for him, if he should act unworthily towards her. So it fell out when Mr Manners had been a few days at home, and had discussed family matters and English news with his wife, that he asked her if she had heard anything of a young fellow named Lindsey.

“There was a great deal of interest felt about him at one time,” replied Mrs Manners, “and I think he might visit in the best society if he chose, but they say he is so taken up with Annie Lowe, that he does not care to go anywhere.”

“And who is Annie Lowe?”

“Mrs Lowe's daughter, to be sure.”

“You don't mean Mrs Lowe; poor Tom's widow?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why, her daughter must be a mere child; about twelve years of age, I suppose.”

“Nonsense, Charles! She is turned sixteen; a year older than our Clara. But you men are so stupid about ages; I dare say you have forgotten how old your own children are?”

Mr Manners proved his stupidity by guessing at least a couple of years younger than they were.

“There, didn't I say so?” exclaimed his wife triumphantly.

But he seemed to submit very passively to her raillery, for he did not reply. As a great deal of business had accumulated during his absence, he probably soon forgot about Annie Lowe's age and Herbert Lindsey's infidelities; both circumstances, however, we forcibly recalled to his memory the next day when he visited the neighbouring town.

It has already been stated that Mr Manners was a magistrate, and a good one, but we shall not be called upon to see him in his official character, we will merely refer to the circumstances that took him to town, lest it should be supposed that he went there as a mere idler; which many people did on that morning. Although, as the motive for idleness was to see a wedding, we must excuse it for once. It was not a gay wedding, although the youth and beauty of the bride deserved one. A pretty little thing she was, looking so happy leaning on the arm of that handsome young man, that even our grave magistrate asked the names of the parties, pointing to each individual as he did so.

“That's Annie Lowe. She's to be married to-day, and I am glad of it, for the poor girl was dreadfully afraid lest her sweetheart should give her the slip. It was said he had got entangled in another engagement, and–”

Mr Manners, not having time to listen to gossip of this nature, remarked, “Poor girl she is very young to be married; but,” he added, pointing to the gentleman who was leading the bride into the church, “who is that good-looking fellow?”

“That? Oh, that is Mr Lindsey. I thought you knew him,” answered the magistral informant.

“The scoundrel!”

“Ah! I see the view you take of the late trial; and, between ourselves I am of the same opinion, for who else could have murdered McAlpin?”

“Poor McAlpin!” said Mr Manners, with a sigh, the remembrance of his old acquaintance effacing from his mind the fickleness of Herbert Lindsey. But the conversation being here interrupted by the approach of a brother magistrate, the two dignitaries went to take their seats on the bench.

No sooner, however, was the business of the day concluded, than Mr Manners wrote to Pierce Silverton, requesting him to prepare Miss McAlpin for the distressing intelligence, or at least to prevent her from becoming first acquainted with it through the columns of a newspaper.

“At all events, there is an excellent fellow ready to take the place of this Lindsey, so I hope the poor girl will not break her heart about the good-for-nothing rascal,” was the concluding remark of the worthy magistrate, as he related the circumstances to his wife.

“The deceitful man! I am so glad that I never invited him here; for you know, Charles, that Clara might have taken a fancy to him, and then–”

And then, Mrs Manners congratulated herself on her own prudence, which, like that of many other people, had been the result of accident, as she had been prevented, by the illness of her children, by repairs going on in the house, and by other domestic causes, from receiving company since Herbert's visit in the neighbourhood; though she had quite forgotten how much these circumstances had annoyed her at the time.

“I am glad you did
not
invite him, Lizzie; I'll have no vagabond fellows running off with any of our girls. But, after all, I am as well pleased that Master Lindsey has left the coast clear, for it will greatly simplify matters.”

Mrs Manners then became very anxious to know how a dilemma could be simplified by being doubled, but her husband only replied that, “Time would show.”

 

The letter of Mr Manners' was forwarded to Pierce Silverton in Melbourne, and, upon receiving it he immediately hastened back to the country, deliberating all the while as to what steps should be next taken. Not wishing to be the bearer of ill-tidings, although extremely anxious that these tidings should be communicated, he resolved to go immediately to Mount Alpin, thinking that some unforeseen accident might have occurred which would guide his future movements. On arriving he found a clue to direct him through the tangled path he had to tread – for a tangled path all must tread who deviate from the straightforward way. And it was the absence of a
straightforward man
that now aided
the double dealer
.

We allude to Harry Saunders, who had gone some distance up the country to visit a sick mother. As it was the duty of Harry to meet the mail and take any letters it might bring for the Mount Alpin Station to their destination, Pierce Silverton at once saw what advantage he might reap from this accidental occurrence. But when Flora asked him which of the men in his employ could be best entrusted with the charge, he hesitated, saying:
one
always forgot everything: and
another
patronised public-houses too much. In short, Mr Silverton found some objection to all the servants.

“It is very tiresome!” said Flora, rather pettishly, “I hate the idea of having my letters delayed or lost.”

“I will bring them up for you, if you desire,” replied Mr Silverton, in the most natural tone in the world.

“I don't like to give you so much trouble.”

“What nonsense! Don't I come here every day? But will you excuse me for a moment? I have a message for Miss Garlick.”

This anxiety respecting Miss Garlick so completely threw Flora off her guard that all her former confidence in Pierce Silverton returned, and thus when he left Mount Alpin that afternoon, he thought the game was in his own hands, and forthwith resolved on a
coup d'etat.

All
coups d'etat
are of rapid execution, and therefore Pierce Silverton nerved himself for the enterprise. He had already skirmished about for a considerable time, and now, nearly a year having elapsed since the death of McAlpin, Flora would very soon either marry Herbert or reject him altogether.

It would not, therefore, be expedient for her to receive his letters, as he might explain something about
that wedding
, or perhaps Mr Mann might do so – the latter having, by this time, ascertained that Mr Lindsey was the gentleman who
gave the lady away,
not the one
who received her.

“How could you be so stupid?” Mrs Manners demanded of her husband, when she was correctly informed of all details connected with the bridal procession. “If Annie had been
coming out
of the church with Mr Lindsey, instead
of going into it,
then it would be evident that he was her husband. But, I declare, Charles, you seem as ignorant of wedding etiquette as if you had never been married yourself, nor given away half-a-dozen girls in the course of your lifetime.”

On receiving this lecture, Mr Manners admitted to his wife that he
was stupid
; and to his conscience that he was
unjust.
Unjust – and a magistrate! His honourable nature could not bear that reflection, so he immediately set about doing the very thing that he had proposed to himself to do on arriving in his own district, namely, to observe the conduct of Herbert Lindsey. Therefore, the next day he paid a visit to the artist's studio, where he found a large collection of sketches in different stages of progress, and the artist himself working away for his very life.

It was such an easy thing to gain the confidence of that single-minded young man, that Mr Manners soon drew from him his motive for so much over-exertion. It was an earnest resolve to pay back the sum Miss McAlpin had advanced for his law expenses, and then to go on working until he could maintain her as she deserved.