‘His English was not very good,’ said Anna, ‘but he often used the words “revenge”, and “murder”. Sometimes he talked in his sleep. I didn’t understand it at the time.’
‘On these occasions to which you refer,’ Moody said, ‘how did Mr. Sook appear to you?’
‘Vexed,’ Anna said. ‘Perhaps frightened. I didn’t think anything of it until afterwards. I didn’t know about Governor Shepard’s brother till after Ah Sook was killed.’
Moody turned to the justice, holding up a piece of paper. ‘The defence refers the Court to the transcript of the trial, recorded in the Sydney Herald on the ninth of July, 1854. The original can be found at the Antipodean Archives on Wharf-street, where it is currently being held; in the meantime, I submit a witnessed copy to the Court.’
He passed the copy along the bench to be handed up to the justice, and then turned back to Anna. ‘Was Governor Shepard aware of the fact that you and Mr. Sook were very dear friends?’
‘It wasn’t exactly a secret,’ said Anna. ‘I was at the den most days, and it’s the only den in Kaniere. I’d say that almost everyone knew.’
‘Your visits earned you a nickname, did they not?’
‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘Everyone called me “Chinaman’s Ann”.’
‘Thank you, Miss Wetherell,’ Moody said. ‘That will be all.’ He bowed to the justice, who was scanning the transcript from the Sydney Herald, and sat down.
Broham, to whom this insinuation had come as a very unexpected surprise, petitioned to re-examine Anna on the subject that had just been raised by the defence. Justice Kemp, however, declined his request.
‘We are here this morning to consider three charges,’ he said, placing the account of Ah Sook’s acquittal carefully to the side, and folding his hands, ‘one of forgery, one of drunk and disorderly behaviour, and one of assault. I have made note of the fact that Miss Wetherell’s association with Mr. Sook was of a personal significance to the plaintiff; but I do not judge that these new developments warrant a re-examination. After all, we are not here to consider the plaintiff’s motivations, but Miss Wetherell’s.’
Broham looked very put out; Moody, catching Anna’s eye, gave her a very small smile, which she returned in kind. This was a victory.
The first witness to be called was Joseph Pritchard, who, interrograted by Broham, echoed Anna’s account of what had happened on the 27th of January in the Gridiron Hoteclass="underline" the first bullet had vanished upon the event of the misfire, and the second had been fired into Anna’s pillow by Aubert Gascoigne, as an experiment.
‘Mr. Pritchard,’ said Moody, when he was invited to cross-examine. ‘What was your purpose in seeking an audience with Miss Wetherell on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh of January?’
‘I figured that there was another story behind her attempted suicide,’ said Pritchard. ‘I thought that perhaps her store of opium might have been poisoned, or cut with something else, and I wanted to examine it.’
‘Did you examine Miss Wetherell’s supply, as you intended?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you discover?’
‘I could tell by looking at her pipe that someone had used it very recently,’ Pritchard said. ‘But whoever that was, it wasn’t her. She was as sober as a nun that afternoon. I could see it in her eyes: she hadn’t touched the drug in days. Maybe even since her overdose.’
‘What about the opium itself? Did you examine her supply?’
‘I couldn’t find it,’ Pritchard said. ‘I turned over her whole drawer, looking for it—but the lump was gone.’
Moody raised his eyebrows. ‘The lump was gone?’
‘Yes,’ said Pritchard.
‘Thank you, Mr. Pritchard,’ said Moody. ‘That will be all.’
Harrington was bent over his ledger, writing furiously. Now he ripped out the page upon which he had been scribbling, and thrust it down the bench for the other men to read. Broham, Moody saw, was no longer smirking.
‘Call the next witness,’ said the justice, who was writing also.
The next witness was Aubert Gascoigne, whose testimony confirmed that the misfire had occurred, the bullet had vanished, and that the second shot had been fired, without incident, into the headboard of Anna’s bed. Questioned by Broham, he admitted that he had not suspected that Emery Staines might have been present in the Gridiron Hotel on the afternoon of the twenty-seventh of January; questioned by Moody, he agreed that the notion was very possible. He returned to his place below the dais, and once he was seated again, the justice called the gaol-house chaplain, Cowell Devlin.
‘Reverend Devlin,’ said Broham, once the clergyman had been sworn in. He held up the deed of gift. ‘How did this document first come to be in your possession?’
‘I found it in Crosbie Wells’s cottage, the morning after his death,’ Devlin said. ‘Mr. Lauderback had brought news of Mr. Wells’s death to Hokitika, and I had been charged by Governor Shepard to go to the cottage and assist in the collection of the man’s remains.’
‘Where exactly did you find this document?’
‘I found it in the ash drawer at the bottom of the stove,’ said Devlin. ‘The place had an unhappy atmosphere, and the day was very wet; I decided to light a fire. I opened the drawer, and saw that document lying in the grate.’
‘What did you do next?’
‘I confiscated it,’ said Devlin.
‘Why?’
‘The document concerned a great deal of money,’ the chaplain said calmly, ‘and I judged it prudent not to make the information public until Miss Wetherell’s health had improved: she had been brought into the Police Camp late the previous night on a suspected charge of felo de se, and it was very plain that she was not in a fit state for surprises.’
‘Was that the only reason for your confiscation?’
‘No,’ Devlin said. ‘As I later explained to Governor Shepard, the document did not seem worth sharing with the police: it was, at that time, invalid.’
‘Why was it invalid?’
‘Mr. Staines had not signed his name to authorise the bequest,’ said Devlin.
‘And yet the document that I am holding does bear Mr. Staines’s signature,’ said Broham. ‘Please explain to the Court how this document came to be signed.’
‘I am afraid I can’t,’ Devlin said. ‘I did not witness the signing first-hand.’
Broham faltered. ‘When did you first become aware that the deed had been signed?’
‘On the morning of the twentieth of March, when I took the deed to Miss Wetherell at the Wayfarer’s Fortune. We had been discussing other matters, and it was during our conversation that I first noticed the document had acquired a signature.’
‘Did you see Miss Wetherell sign this deed of gift?’
‘No, I did not.’
Broham was plainly flummoxed by this; to regain composure, he said, ‘What were you discussing?’
‘The nature of our discussion that morning was confidential to my status as a clergyman,’ Devlin said. ‘I cannot be asked to repeat it, or to testify against her.’
Broham was astonished. Devlin, however, was in the right, and after a great deal of protestation and argument, Broham surrendered his witness to Moody, looking very upset. Moody took a moment to arrange his papers before he began.
‘Reverend Devlin,’ he said. ‘Did you show this deed of gift to Governor Shepard immediately after you discovered it?’
‘No, I did not,’ said Devlin.
‘How then did Governor Shepard become aware of its existence?’
‘Quite by accident,’ replied Devlin. ‘I was keeping the document in my Bible to keep it flat, and Governor Shepard chanced upon it while browsing. This occurred perhaps a month after Mr. Wells’s death.’
Moody nodded. ‘Was Mr. Shepard alone when this accidental discovery occurred?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He advised me to share the deed with Miss Wetherell, and I did so.’