‘The Court calls Mr. Francis Carver.’
Carver was handsome in a dark green jacket and a pinned cravat. He gave his oath with his usual terse accent, and then turned, his expression sober, to face the barristers’ bench.
Broham looked up from his notes. ‘Mr. Carver,’ he said. ‘Please describe for the Court how you first came to be acquainted with Mr. Staines.’
‘I met him in Dunedin,’ said Carver, ‘around about this time last year. He was fresh off the boat from Sydney, and looking to set himself up as a prospector. I offered to be his sponsor, and he accepted.’
‘What did this sponsorship require of each of you?’
‘I’d loan him enough money to set him up on the diggings, and in return, he’d be obliged to give me half-shares in his first venture, with dividends in perpetuity.’
‘What was the exact monetary value of your sponsorship?’
‘I bought his swag and a store of provisions. I paid for his ticket over to the Coast. He was facing down a gambling debt in Dunedin; I paid that, too.’
‘Can you guess at a total value, please?’
‘I suppose I stood him eight pounds. Something in the neighbourhood of eight pounds. He got the short-term leg-up, and I got the long-term payoff. That was the idea.’
‘What was Mr. Staines’s first venture?’
‘He bought a two-acre plot of land within a mile of Kaniere,’ said Carver, ‘known as the Aurora. He wrote to me from Hokitika once he’d made his purchase, and forwarded on all the papers from the bank.’
‘How were the Aurora dividends paid out to you?’
‘By money order, care of the Reserve Bank.’
‘And in what frequency did these payments occur?’
‘Every quarter.’
‘What was the exact value of the dividend payment you received in October 1865?’
‘Eight pounds and change.’
‘And what was the exact value of the dividend payment you received in January 1866?’
‘Six pounds even.’
‘Over the last two quarters of last year, then, you received a total of approximately fourteen pounds in dividends.’
‘That is correct.’
‘In that case, Aurora’s total net profit must have been recorded as approximately twenty-eight pounds, over 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 Godspeed was his ship,’ he said, ‘and I was her operating master. It wasn’t pressing business; I just wanted to talk some things over.’
‘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 Godspeed.’
‘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?’