‘Fascinating,’ said Lydia Wells. ‘And do you make it your habit, Reverend, to drop in on young women when their guardians are otherwise engaged, in order to discuss, without a chaperone, matters of theology?’
Devlin was offended by the accusation. ‘You are hardly Miss Wetherell’s guardian,’ he said. ‘She lived alone for months until you arrived in Hokitika; what sudden need has she of a guardian?’
‘A very great one, I should judge,’ said Lydia Wells, ‘given the degree to which she has been formerly exploited in this town.’
‘I wonder at your adverb, Mrs. Wells! You mean to say that she is exploited no longer?’
Lydia Wells seemed to stiffen. ‘Perhaps you do not think it a gladness,’ she said coldly, ‘that this young woman is no longer prostituting her body every night, and risking every kind of violence, and concussing herself daily with a contemptible drug. Perhaps you wish that she had her former life back again.’
‘Don’t perhaps me,’ Devlin said, flaring up. ‘That’s cheap rhetoric. It’s nothing better than bullying, and I won’t stand for a bully; I won’t.’
‘I am astonished by your accusation,’ said Lydia Wells. ‘In what way am I a bully?’
‘The girl has no freedoms, for heaven’s sake! She was brought here against her will, and you keep her on the shortest leash imaginable!’
‘Anna,’ said Lydia Wells, still addressing Devlin. ‘Did you come to the Wayfarer’s Fortune against your will?’
‘No, ma’am,’ Anna said.
‘Why did you come and take up lodgings here?’
‘Because you made me an offer, and I accepted it.’
‘What was my offer?’
‘You offered to pay my debt to Mr. Clinch up front, and you said that I could come and live with you as your companion, so long as I helped you on the business end.’
‘Did I keep my end of the bargain?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said, miserably.
‘Thank you,’ the widow said. She had not taken her eyes from Devlin’s, and nor had she touched her cup of tea. ‘As for the length of the girl’s leash, I find it very wonderful that you should protest a life of virtue and austerity, in favour of—what did you call them—“freedoms”? Freedoms to do what, exactly? Freedom to fraternise with those very men who once defiled and abused her? Freedom to smoke herself senseless in a Chinaman’s saloon?’
Devlin could not resist countering this. ‘But why did you make your offer, Mrs. Wells? Why did you offer to repay Miss Wetherell’s debts?’
‘Out of concern for the girl, naturally.’
‘Moonshine,’ said Devlin.
‘Pardon me,’ said Lydia Wells. ‘I have ample concern for Anna’s welfare.’
‘Look at her! The poor girl’s half the size she was a month ago; you can’t deny that. She’s starving. You’re starving her.’
‘Anna,’ said Lydia Wells, spitting out the girl’s name. ‘Do I starve you?’
‘No,’ said Anna.
‘Are you, in your own opinion, starving?’
‘No,’ Anna said again.
‘You can spare me the pantomime,’ said Devlin, who was becoming angry. ‘You don’t care two straws for that girl. You’ve no more concern for her than you do for anyone—and from what I have heard about you, that’s a paltry kind of concern indeed.’
‘Another terrible accusation,’ said Lydia Wells. ‘And from the chaplain of a prison, no less! I suppose I ought to try to clear my name. Anna, tell the good Reverend what you did while you were in Dunedin.’
There was a pause. Devlin glanced at Anna, his confidence faltering.
‘Tell him what you did,’ said Lydia Wells again.
‘I played the serpent in your household,’ said Anna.
‘Meaning what, precisely? Tell him exactly what it was you did.’
‘I lay down with your husband.’
‘Yes,’ said Lydia Wells. ‘You seduced my husband, Mr. Wells. Now tell the good Reverend this. What did I do, in retaliation?’
‘You sent me away,’ Anna said. ‘To Hokitika.’
‘In what condition?’
‘With child.’
‘With whose child, please?’
‘With your husband’s child,’ Anna whispered. ‘Crosbie’s child.’
Devlin was astonished.
‘So I sent you away,’ the widow said, nodding. ‘Do I still maintain that my reaction was the right one?’
‘No,’ Anna said. ‘You have repented. You have begged for my forgiveness. More than once.’
‘Are you quite sure?’ said Mrs. Wells, feigning astonishment. ‘According to our good Reverend here, I have no concern at all for the welfare of others, and presumably still less for those who have played temptress beneath my roof! Are you quite sure that I am even capable of begging your forgiveness?’
‘Enough,’ said Devlin. He raised his hands. ‘Enough.’
‘It’s true,’ Anna said. ‘It’s true that she has asked for my forgiveness.’
‘Enough.’
‘Now that you have insulted my integrity in virtually every way imaginable,’ said the widow, picking up her teacup at last, ‘would you mind telling me, without falsehood this time, what you are doing in my parlour?’
‘I was delivering a private message to Miss Wetherell,’ Devlin said.
The widow turned to Anna. ‘What was it?’
‘You don’t have to tell her,’ Devlin said quickly. ‘Not if you don’t want to. You don’t have to say a single word to her.’
‘Anna,’ said Lydia Wells, dangerously. ‘What was the message?’
‘The Reverend showed me a document,’ Anna said, ‘by the authority of which, half of that fortune in Crosbie’s cottage belongs to me.’
‘Indeed,’ said Lydia Wells—and although she spoke coolly Devlin thought he saw a flash of panic in her eye. ‘To whom does the other half belong?’
‘Mr. Emery Staines,’ said Anna.
‘Where is this document?’
‘I hid it,’ said Anna.
‘Well, go and fetch it out,’ Lydia snapped.
‘Don’t,’ Devlin said quickly.
‘I won’t,’ said Anna. She made no move to touch her bodice.
‘You might at least do me the courtesy of telling me the whole truth,’ Lydia said. ‘Both of you.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t do that,’ Devlin said, speaking before Anna could have a chance. ‘This information, you see, pertains to a crime that has not yet been fully investigated. It concerns, among other things, the blackmail of a certain Mr. Alistair Lauderback.’
‘Pardon me?’ said Lydia Wells.
‘What?’ said Anna.
‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose anything further,’ Devlin said—observing, to his great satisfaction, that the widow had become very pale. ‘Anna, if you wish to go to the Courthouse directly, I will escort you there myself.’
‘You will?’ Anna said, peering at him.
‘Yes,’ Devlin said.
‘What on earth do you think you’ll be doing at the Courthouse?’ said Lydia Wells.
‘Seeking legal counsel,’ said Anna. ‘As is my civil right.’
Mrs. Wells fixed Anna with an impenetrable look. ‘I consider this a very poor way to repay my kindness,’ she said at last, and in a quiet voice.
Anna went to Devlin’s side, and took his arm. ‘Mrs. Wells,’ she said, ‘it is not your kindness that I mean to repay.’
JUPITER IN CAPRICORN
In which Aubert Gascoigne is very much amused; Cowell Devlin abdicates responsibility; and Anna Wetherell makes a mistake.
The Hokitika Courthouse, home of the Resident Magistrate’s Court, was a scene of robust but much-approximated ceremony. The courtroom had been cordoned with ropes, rather like a shearing yard. District officials sat behind a row of desks that protected them from the milling crowd; when the court was in session, these desks would form a kind of barricade between the figures of the court and the public, who was required to stand. The magistrate’s seat, currently vacant, was only a captain’s chair on a raised dais, though the chair had been draped with sheepskins to give it a more dignified aspect. Beside it stood an outsize Union Jack, hung on a stand that was rather too short for the size of the flag. The flag might have pooled on the dusty ground, had an enterprising soul not thought to place an empty wine cask beneath the bottom of the stand—a detail that served to diminish, rather than enhance, the flag’s effect.