Force and Fraud (12 page)

Although everybody had been more than usually idle during the day, the kitchen of
The Southern Cross
presented a scene of activity. The Freemasons' dinner was always considered an important event, and to prepare for
this
, the ‘busy note of preparation' had already been sounded.

The kitchen – approached by the verandah at the back of the house – was a spacious room, about forty feet in length by twenty in breadth. It was amply furnished with tables, dressers, etc., but its distinguishing features consisted in its facilities for cooking. On entering, the first object that arrested attention was a capacious hearth, of a depth unusual, even in the bush. The hearth was fitted with a colonial oven, of appropriate dimensions, which at that moment ought to be intensely hot as beneath it were blazing branches, and above, huge burning logs. From the interior of the chimney was suspended a large crane, to which were attached immense vessels emitting a savoury odour. An American stove stood in a recess connected with the chimney; this article seeming also to be in full operation. A servant girl was, at intervals, turning the various dishes with which the two ovens were filled; a boy was replenishing the two fires; and a blackfellow was discharging all sorts of promiscuous duties. Over all of these presided the queen of that region: Bridget, the cook. She had recently been superintending the cooling of jellies in the pantry, and she was now about to prepare some other delicacy, when her eye fell on the son and heir of Mr O'Twig, who was seated under the table indulging himself with apricot jam.

“Bad cess to ye, Mike! Is it there ye are? And what brings ye into
my
kitchen?” demanded Bridget, in a tone of authority.

“Mother thinks Patsey's got the whooping-cough, and she'll thank you for a little jelly.”

“There never was a Freemason's dinner, that some o' ye didn't get the whooping cough. But sorrow a taste o' jelly shall ye have.”

“Then blanc mange will do.”

“No, nor blanc mange neither. I'd rather give it to the blackfellows for a corrobboree than to yez. You may tell your mother so with
my
compliments. I suppose
she's
too much of a fine lady to cook
now,
though I remember the time when –
will
ye keep your fingers out o' the jam? With that face o' yours just like your father's; bad luck to him, sending a real gentleman to gaol for a thing he never did.”

“The governor thinks it was him that settled old Mac.”

“I'll settle ye, Mike, and your governor too, if ye dare say that again. D'ye see this rolling pin?”

“Are you going to make us a cake with it, Bridget?”

“Cake, is it? No, but to whollop the life out o' ye. Off ye go, Mike.” And, brandishing the insignia of her office, Bridget pursued the boy into the yard, where he was saluted by the magpie screaming forth after the manner of his species, to demand who the young gentleman might be.

“More power to ye, Mag!” cried the cook, as her feathered ally took up her cause by pecking at the feet of the intruder.

“The impudence of them O'Twigs! I'll twig them if they come here, and everybody else who dares say a word against Mr Lindsey,” continued the autocrat of the kitchen.

“I've served out one of the travellers for the like,” said Mary, as she entered.

“And what have you done, Mary?” asked the cook.

“He wanted a large airy bed room, so I shewed him into the worst in the house; and gave him a cracked looking-glass, and a basin with a piece out of it, and the coarsest sheets I could find. And then I put a gentleman that was standing up for Mr Lindsey into the best bed room. I'll have none of his enemies on the front lobby; that I won't.”

Meantime Mrs Roberts remembered an occurrence which might increase the difficulties of the prisoner's situation. Being determined that, right or wrong, she would not add one link to the chain of evidence, as soon as she could escape from her guests, she retired to her own room. There she unlocked a drawer, took out a blue and white neck tie – it being the article she had picked up at some little distance from the spot where the murder had been committed. Well she knew to whom that little silken tie belonged, for it had been a gift from herself; pretty and fresh-looking when she had proudly presented it to her favourite guest, but now creased and spotted with blood!

The kind-hearted woman sighed and exclaimed to herself, “For all that,
I
don't believe he did, but
they
will, so I'll make an end of this.”

A knock was heard at the chamber-door, and Mrs Roberts, startled and dismayed, again deposited the neck-tie in the drawer, which she hastily re-locked, as she said, “Come in.”

The visitor was only Bridget, desiring other materials for the morrow's feast. But, although Bridget was a friend, her mistress did not think fit to entrust her with the history of the neck-tie, and she felt a good deal of relief on perceiving that the heroine of the kitchen was too much occupied by the recent ejectment of young O'Twig, to observe
her
agitation. That exploit was related and applauded; and then the two partisans of Herbert Lindsey sat down to regale themselves with brandy cherries.

Mrs Roberts kept her most choice delicacies in a cupboard within her own room which, the space being somewhat limited, was pretty well crowded with shelves. As one of these was placed at a considerable height from the ground, it became necessary, in order to reach it, to mount on either a chair or table. Mrs Roberts, being by no means tall, required all the elevation possible; to gain which, she placed a box upon the table, and then, with Bridget's assistance, ascended the perilous height. But being earnestly engaged in conversation, she stept too much on one end of the box and fell
heavily;
for though not tall, she was by no means slender. Her foot, being in an awkward position, received a severe injury. As she endeavoured to rise, the effort caused great pain, and she fainted.

Bridget screamed, half the inmates of the hotel came rushing to the rescue and Mrs Roberts was laid on her bed, and soon restored to consciousness. When her husband, from an excess of solicitude, pressed upon the swollen ankle she shrieked, “Oh, my foot! My foot! Roberts, get along and don't touch it!”

“Bless my life, I hope there's nothing broke! Run off, one of you, for Doctor McDose,” exclaimed Roberts.

Different remedies were recommended by different people, but as the sufferer screamed loudly when the foot was touched, it was agreed that nothing could be done until professional assistance could be procured. Unfortunately, however, the doctor had been summoned to a patient at some distance, and was not expected to return till late. What should they do? Friction might be beneficial, or the reverse, at all events Mrs Roberts would not allow anyone to touch her foot.

All at once her husband recollected that the surgeon's assistant was in the house, and as he was considered a skilful young man, he was immediately summoned. The name of this gentleman was Philip Garlick, generally called Phil, and not infrequently,
Pill
Garlick. He was the eldest son of the austere matron, already introduced; and, like his youngest sister, was apt to indulge in practical jokes. At the time he was called to administer his aid, he was surveying the decorations lavished by the various Societies called Friendly on the hall set apart for their mystic rites. Seeing the letters M.U.I.O.O.F. newly painted on some device, he seized the palette of the absent
Artiste
and facetiously struck out the last three vowels, and doubled the final consonant. A very profane act, no doubt, but
if mischief
was the instinct of Miss Bessie, who might be supposed to have benefited from the good example of her brothers and sisters, it was not the less likely to invest Mr Philip's character; and to become the more developed as he was frequently applauded by frolicsome young men.

But notwithstanding his love of fun, Philip was good-natured as well as skilful, and on hearing of the accident, he went at once to tender assistance. Mrs Robert's ankle was found to be dislocated; and it therefore became necessary – in spite of her shrieks – to press it, and swathe it, and to put her to so much torture that she again fainted.

“I'll run home and prepare a liniment, and you can keep this bandage wet with it,” said Mr Garlick.

“The Missus has got some that the doctor sent when I sprained my wrist,” said the cook.

“So much the better; that will save time. Where is it?” replied the young surgeon.

“The doctor said it was poison, so Mrs Roberts locked it in that drawer, to be out of the way.”

“All right; get the key at once.”

“There's Missus's bunch of keys, and this is the one belonging to the drawer,” said Mary, who was in attendance.

The drawer was opened, and the liniment produced and applied before Mrs Roberts recovered from her swoon. The young doctor, then saying he would send her something to calm her nerves, took his leave; but he also took something else. On opening the drawer, his sharp eyes espied a little book of gold leaf, and as his imagination remained on the gorgeous letters he had recently adjusted, he appropriated the hidden treasure, and returned to the Hall to pursue his study of Decorative Art. Unluckily, in abstracting the book of gold leaf, Mr Garlick had caught up the silken neck-tie, which fell upon the floor.

On recovering from her trance, and even before she could speak, Mrs Roberts became painfully conscious of
sound
. She heard the rattling of keys, the turn of a lock, and knew that her drawer had been opened. She kept silent and, after taking the sedative, turned over as if to seek repose; though this was rendered impossible by pain. Her attendants thinking she slept, and knowing that a thousand things remained to be done, dropt off one by one.

No sooner than she was alone, than raising herself on her elbow, she perceived the little neck-tie, and making a violent effort she got off the bed and seized it. But she over-calculated her strength and, a second time, fell helpless on the floor.

After the lapse of an hour she was found there, grasping the handkerchief, which was recognised by more than one individual. All wondered; all knew that there was some secret connected with it, and all agreed that it would be desirable to preserve silence.

But all, from an impulse to gossip, aided in circulating a report prejudicial to the cause of Herbert Lindsey.

Although Pierce Silverton and Harry Saunders had both expressed considerable anxiety respecting Miss McAlpin, neither of them seemed inclined to soften the blow that the sadder tidings of that morning's event must inevitably cause. Neither of them wanted to become the messenger of ill. It might not be easy to define the motives which, in both cases, were of a mixed nature.

Pierce Silverton, by a curious instance of association, suddenly recollected that, whilst in Melbourne he had attended the representation of
King John,
in the principal theatre of that city. He had been forcibly struck with the manner in which the Lady Constance treated the bearer of ill news; so much indeed as to have involuntarily exclaimed, “Poor Flora!”

This circumstance caused Mr John Speedy to remark, “Silverton, my boy, I think it is a case with you.”

“A case? What do you mean?” was the reply from Pierce.

“Why, you called that virago of a princess,
Flora;
and her name's Constance.”

“Did I? Oh! hem! There's a likeness between the two ladies.” In this instance the immaculate Silverton deviated from the truth, as there was not the slightest resemblance between Miss McAlpin and the fair
impersonatrix
of the injured Princess. But, if we take the liberty of looking into our friend Pierce's heart, we shall find that he resolved not to become an object of dislike to the young lady, by revealing a disagreeable fact, lest he should be assailed by reproaches similar to those that greeted the ear of the mediaeval messenger.
How
such thoughts
could
have entered his brain
previous
to the committal of Lindsey, is a circumstance we cannot, at present, consider.

The reluctance felt by Harry Saunders to become the bearer of evil news was also of rather a complicated nature. In the first instance, he did not like to give pain; in the second – according to his own reasoning – if anything
could
make him to tell an untruth, it would be the pleading of a pretty woman. For the imagination of Harry had conjured up a picture in which Flora, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, was entreating him not to tell
all he knew.
And thus poor Flora was left, like many another hapless female, to go through the trial unsupported by her friends, as when the two horsemen arrived at Mount Alpin, she had been fully informed of the whole transaction.

It is certain that human nature must be greatly diversified, for the office of conveying the evil tidings, so shunned by Mr Silverton and Harry, had been volunteered by Mr Lovelaw.

This gentleman was considered very kind hearted by some people; by others, as rather officious; and, by a few of the profane sort, as
an old woman
. Since a great authority has condemned
good intentions
to such a purpose vile, we will not enquire what might be there of Mr Lovelaw when he offered to tell the tale, but tell it he did. Not, however, without taking his wife's smelling bottle, and by way of further preparation, pouring out a glass of water. To his surprise, neither of these articles was called into request, for Miss McAlpin – instead of falling senseless on the ground – stamped her foot, clenched her hand, and exclaimed in an angry tone, “Who dares to attribute such a crime to Mr Lindsey?”

Rather, and a thousand times, would Mr Lovelaw have witnessed a fit of hysterics than the passionate aspect of that young tigress – for to such animal he afterwards likened Miss McAlpin. With flashing eyes and haughty gesture, she repeated her demand, adding, “That upstart, O'Twig, shall pay for his insolence.”