Force and Fraud (19 page)

She thought the offer was coming at last, and therefore bent down her head in the most becoming manner; but in vain did her eyes seek the dusty floor – the offer did
not yet
come, although, “My dear Bessie” was repeated.

Thinking this a prelude, she remained silent; and at length Pierce said in a faltering tone, “I have something to ask of you, my dear girl.”

If silence means consent, consent should imply something definite, and Bessie Garlick, being a practical young lady, at last thought the gentleman, having forgotten his own part, was acting hers, namely, silence; so to give him his
cue,
she said, “Well?”

To which he replied, “Bessie, you and I have been friends for a long time.”

“Yes, yes,” murmured Bessie.

“I have a favour to ask of you – a great favour.”

“Well, what is it?”

“That, that you will not talk about that snuff-box.”

“Hang your trumpery snuff-box.” So saying, Bessie flung herself away from Pierce Silverton and the collection of minerals, and sought the region of stuffed cockatoos.

Thither Pierce followed, and was perhaps somewhat surprised at seeing a big scalding tear on her high-coloured and rather high-boned cheeks. Oh, what would he have given to perceive such a sign of weakness in Flora! So he thought even at that moment, and he sighed.

The thought could not be read, but the sigh was, though not correctly; but it served his cause and Bessie looked appeased. So, again taking her hand and drawing it through his arm, he once more prefaced his speech with, “My dear Bessie.” This time she did preserve silence, and Pierce continued, “That snuff-box belonged to poor McAlpin. And on the very morning he was murdered he gave it to me. Now, as the most trifling incident connected with that fatal day will be discussed, it is probable I may be asked how the article fell into my possession.”

“Then why did you say that the man Smith had given it to you?” Bessie very naturally asked.

“I was thinking of a pocketbook that somehow or other had found its way amongst your pretty little knick-knacks; and poor Smith having just gone, and left it with me and, well one thing or other – in short, I scarcely knew what I was saying. But, though it is very known that I was elsewhere, and could not by any chance have had a hand in the murder yet there are some people whose imaginations being evil, will suspect anything. And if there
should be
an inquiry about this da– I beg your pardon; about this old Scotch article… In fact lawyers are the devil, and when they begin to talk, no one knows where they will stop.”

Bessie looked rather aghast at this speech, either because it contained a profane word or two, or because she did not understand what it meant; and no wonder. But Pierce Silverton was squeezing her hand so tenderly, and looking so pleadingly into her eyes, that she whispered, “I'll deny everything about the box. I'll say whatever you like; indeed I will.” In short, she offered to tell as many fibs as could reasonably be expected from a young lady who had been subjected to a severe course of training.

“Now, I do not want you to tell anything that is not true. Thank heaven, I have nothing to fear; but the fact simply is that McAlpin did give me the box, and I don't want to be bothered with any stupid questions; though if I had cared about the affair being known, I should scarcely have left it in your way to play tricks with, you little gipsy.”

Mr Silverton looked as if he would challenge the scrutiny of the world, and at that moment his arm found its way round Bessie's waist; look and gesture together gained his cause, for she answered, ‘I will never joke about that box again.” And she never did.

“You are a good girl, Bessie, and you may command me for life,” he replied with emphasis. Flattering and vague language; but Bessie sipped the honey of flattery without heeding the thorns of doubt; she was in such a delightful turmoil – Pierce holding her hand all the way back to Melbourne. But the only
actual
promise he breathed in her ear was, that as she seemed to admire the stuffed cockatoos so much, he would bring her a live one the next time he came down from the country.

Silverton ought to be considered a fortunate man, on that day at least, being all in all to Bessie Garlick; and, notwithstanding a thousand anxieties, he very much occupied the thoughts of Flora McAlpin too.

No sooner was
she
alone, than her conscience smote her for the harshness with which she had treated her true and disinterested friend. Poor Flora, she was not very wise in the world's ways; nor would we have any girl of twenty-one to be so. But we will not destroy her illusions; and though her faith, both in Lindsey and in Silverton
may
prove vain, we will leave her enjoy yet longer the sweet but treacherous dream of youthful confidence.

“I was unkind to Pierce when he wished to prepare me for, for… But if he knew half my wretchedness he would forgive me; he is so generous, he has not spoken of–” Flora paused in her soliloquy and blushed, for she knew that Pierce loved her, and her alone.

“Yes, generous in many ways: he has not yet touched my father's legacy and he will leave me in undisputed possession of my father's house. I wish I had a sister; I should so like dear Pierce for a brother!”

But Flora's meditations were interrupted by the car driving up to the door. Pierce Silverton and Bessie Garlick alighted – both still covered with dust, though very different were the separate expressions seen through that unbecoming cloud. The lady looked red and radiant; the gentleman, pale and perplexed. They entered the house – the one with a bounding (not to say a bouncing) step; the other with an air of listlessness and languor.

“How ill he looks,” thought Flora; and, with the generous impulse of her nature, she went to meet the object of her solicitude, saying, “I am afraid you will think I was very rude and unkind this morning, but do not be angry; I was so wretched that I scarcely knew what I was saying.”

She held out her hand, and the look of candour that was her principal charm – it is
always
a charm in woman, for it cannot exist with rigidity – went right to the heart of the unhappy lover.

“Angry with you!” he exclaimed. “Oh! I could not be so. You may say what you like, Flora, and you know it.” His hand, which had lain passively in that of Bessie Garlick, now trembled within the soft fingers of Flora McAlpin.

The conscience of the tender-hearted girl was appeased, and she sat down to talk of business with her friend. Her mission was accomplished – she had done all she could for Herbert. Both attorney and counsel were in possession of all the bearings of the case, and now she was anxious to return to the country. She could not be
with him,
it is true, but she could be
nearer.
She would see him once, after which she would seclude herself in her own house until the trial; and then wait somewhere close to that dreadful courthouse; that is, if they did not compel her to be present at the hearing.

Silverton did not think this would be required. It was well known that she did not meet Herbert till the day after the murder; and he was sure that all parties would spare her feelings as much as possible. He was glad she had made up her mind to go home; and though he could not now reside in the house with her, as he had done in her father's lifetime, he would take lodgings as near as possible, and endeavour to give her all the consolation in her power.

She thanked him with one of her sweet smiles; and saying she should not see him any more that evening, as there was to be a party in honour of Mr Philip's visit, she again retired; leaving him all unmindful of the dust in his beautiful hair and whiskers, although some young ladies were coming to tea.

This fact, however, was soon announced by Bessie Garlick, who entered attired for the festivity, in a shining gauzy dress, her fat neck and arms unshaded, and her hair most elaborately dressed.

“Lor! You're not going to sit down to tea all dust, you great Guy, are you?” exclaimed the young lady, who had become rather annoyed at Mr Silverton's lengthened interview with Miss McAlpin.

“No, to be sure not; but I'll be with you directly,” he replied; and without waiting for any farther argument, left the room.

The party assembled, and Philip, the hero of the feast, immediately inquired for Miss McAlpin.

“She isn't coming, and we shall do a great deal better without her; she's so mopish,” said her rival.

Whether Mr Philip was of the same opinion or not, he made no remark, but he did his best to amuse the young ladies, by recounting some of his practical jokes. And so the evening passed amidst the delights of turn-trencher, riddles, and other pastimes, that rather inconsistently hold their places in extremely rigid households.

When the guests had departed, Mr Silverton informed his hostess and daughters that, in consequence of a letter just received, he should be under the necessity of returning to the country by the first train in the morning.

“Indeed,” exclaimed the matron.

“So soon?” cried Bessie.

Mr Silverton put the amount for board and residence in the hand of the elder lady, and bestowed a loving glance on the younger, adding, “But I hope soon to be back again.”

As the train was to leave very early, he took leave over night; and Bessie, though sorrowful, consoled herself with the reflection that Miss McAlpin was not going the same day.

Wait a little, Bessie; perhaps Mr Silverton may arrange the journey more to his satisfaction than to yours. Leaving so early, he would have had time to proceed by coach; but at the town where he should have changed one conveyance for another, he happened to fall in with some young men of his acquaintance – gay young fellows they were, rather of the stamp of Philip Garlick than that of Pierce Silverton – and as these gentlemen were also friends of Mr Phil, they naturally inquired about his welfare.

“All right, and coming up tomorrow,” replied Pierce.

“Then, by Jove, we'll have a night of it; better join us, Silverton,” said the foremost of the group.

The traveller agreed to do so; and a very joyful party was arranged forthwith. Pierce did not state that the young surgeon was to accompany Miss McAlpin, although such was the state of the case; and, with the sanction of his mother and sisters, who were so attentive as to conduct Flora to the railway terminus, and see her safely deposited in a comfortable carriage. They charged Phil to take the greatest possible care of her, perhaps thinking that if anything
should
happen to break off the match between her and Mr Lindsey, the accomplished Philip might stand a chance of ‘catching an heiress'.

The young gentleman, without any
arriere pensee
was attentive; and the young lady as well pleased with him as she could be with any one. But as our travellers did not leave at so early an hour as Mr Silverton had done, they were not in time for the coach, as they expected to be. Miss McAlpin waited for that of the next day; and Mr Philip for that of the day after, as the ‘party' was
so
jovial he was kept up to so late an hour as to render him perfectly oblivious of all sublunary things.

Therefore, when Flora seated herself in one of Cobb's Royal Mail and Telegraph line of Coaches, she was speedily followed by Mr Pierce Silverton instead.

“Is that you?” she asked in pleased surprise.

“Certainly, and why not?” he replied, with an air of unusual gallantry.

“Oh, because I thought you were at Mount Alpin by this time. But where is Mr Garlick? The coach will start in a minute or two.”

Mr Silverton briefly explained that Mr Garlick would probably swallow a considerable amount of soda water before he could travel. But in a few minutes they were en route, unaccompanied by any other inside passenger. The fates had favoured Mr Silverton's scheme; there being at that season some extraordinary excitement in Melbourne, which caused every lady to go there and none to come away.

But
why
he should submit himself to the torture of hearing the woman he loved talk of another man, is a thing that can only be surmised by one whose passion is as desperate as that of Pierce Silverton.

The route was not the same that Flora had previously taken, as she intended stopping at the town where the sessions were about to be held. Pierce Silverton knew of her determination, and was most sympathising. And now they were approaching that town. Flora was aware of this, as the road, which in winter must be diabolical, and even now was anything but pleasant, suddenly became tolerable; but the comparatively easy motion of the conveyance did not appear a source of gratification to her, for she violently shuddered. And, perhaps, if she had not removed her hat and laid aside her gloves, she would have fainted.

Pierce, observing her extreme paleness, took a bottle of essence out of her reticule, and poured it on the damp cold palms of her trembling hands. “Miss McAlpin, Flora, are you ill?” he asked.

“No, no,” she faltered. “Tell me when we come in sight of the courthouse and of–” Her eyes closed, and she lay back in the coach.

“Yes, but why did you come this way? It will be too much for you.”

“No, it will not. I am better now.” And she roused herself with an effort.

“Then, it is there,” he said, as a turn of the road brought them in sight of a dark stone building, with a strong iron gateway.

Flora gazed with straining eyes, for she beheld the gaol in which Herbert Lindsey was awaiting his trial!

 

It was the opinion of Napoleon that courteousness of demeanour is not suited to the vanquished and oppressed who, on the contrary, should maintain a certain amount of haughtiness and reserve. For this reason, the great conqueror admired one amongst his foes who, when imprisoned and being asked what he desired, replied, “To be let alone, and not indebted to any for pity.”

People will always differ as to what is most becoming in others, and it might be more Christian-like, under any circumstances, to be resigned rather than haughty. Yet although Napoleon may not be set up for a
saint,
we will let him pass for a hero and also as no bad observer of men and women. Judging therefore, from the standard he had formed of propriety, he might have admired Herbert Lindsey, who – the first impulse of indignation having passed away – was haughty and reserved enough for Napoleon the Great; and for all the eagles in his Imperial army into the bargain.