Force and Fraud (29 page)

Bessie looked puzzled, as she had heard Mr Silverton say something about important news – bad news, as she understood; but Miss McAlpin, though she did not appear disturbed, was certainly not altogether herself.

At length Bessie said she, “hoped that there was nothing the matter with Mr Lindsey.”

“O dear, no,” replied Flora. “Mr Silverton's news was not of half so much consequence as he supposed.”

The young hostess served her guest very plentifully, and herself also, although she left what is termed a ‘wasteful plate'.

Dinner being at length concluded, Flora, saying she had letters to write, again retired to her own room. “I will not say anything of this to
her,
for she will only make a scene,” she exclaimed, half-aloud. And thus it would appear that the idea of
casting
Miss Garlick for the part of bridesmaid did not occur to Miss McAlpin. Indeed, it is probable that she thought so little of the bridegroom, as not to think at all of the supernumerary characters. But, as she considered that a certain amount of attention was due to her guest, she wrote a brief note, to be given her on the morrow; another, also, to the young lady's brother, in which she requested him to make Mount Alpin his home, as long as his sister desired to stay there.

Scarcely had she finished, when a note was brought her from Mr Silverton; it ran thus:

 

Dearest Flora,

A vessel is to sail for England in a few days. Would you like to go there?

Ever yours,

PIERCE SILVERTON

To this she merely replied:

 

England will do as well as any other place.

F. McA.

“So much the better,” soliloquised the bride-elect. “It will give me something to do.”

And, perhaps, it was quite as well to pack boxes as to sit down and cry, for she succeeded in tiring herself almost to death, and in causing her tea not to be such a mere pretence as dinner had been.

Whether she was to go to the clergyman to be married, or the clergyman was to come to marry her, she did not know; neither did any thoughts of bride-cake or bride-favours enter her head. But having told Mr Silverton to make whatever arrangements he liked is to be inferred that she had a tolerable opinion of his good taste. Suddenly, however, the idea of travelling with Pierce crossed her mind; it was associated with the recollection of a former journey in his company – when she was about to visit the gaol. Then arose the memory of all she had suffered.

“And it was for this!” she indignantly exclaimed.

But what do all these reflections now avail, Flora, as you are to be married tomorrow.

Mr Silverton meanwhile set about the preparations for his marriage with a great deal of
savoir faire
. He bought
the ring
and two immense bride cakes, without either of these remarkable purchases exciting particular attention. It is true that he said the former was for a friend and having occasionally been so condescending as to execute a commission or two for Mrs Roberts, and the confectionery articles being ordered to be sent to
The Southern Cross
, it was naturally supposed that a bridal feast was to be celebrated at that hotel.

Mr Silverton then called on a clergyman respecting the licence but the reverend gentleman not being at home, the visitor left his card and his compliments, and said he would call again in the evening. He would have liked to have gone back to Mount Alpin, but not knowing exactly in what mood he might find Flora, he thought it better to restrain his inclinations. Therefore to fill up the time, he walked about the township looking in through the shop windows and wondering what sort of a present he could make his bride. There was very little to tempt his fancy, so thinking he should have a better choice in Melbourne, and a better still in London, he contented himself with the most expensive diamond ring he could find. As he entrusted this costly gem to one of the men usually employed about the station, Flora might have wondered (had not her thoughts been otherwise occupied) why the same man was not also fit to be entrusted with letters.

The next duty of Mr Silverton was to walk into the stable-yard, where his host happened to be, and accosting him in a careless manner, he said, “Roberts, a friend of mine will want your pair of greys tomorrow.”

“Very good; but where are they to go?”

“I will give you all the particulars in the morning; it is only just now that I have been informed myself.”

“All right, your friends are decent fellows. I don't let out those greys to all sorts of rowdy chaps.” So saying, Mr Roberts walked off, and Mr Silverton, thinking that his preparations were nearly completed, wondered why people made such a fuss about weddings. He then bent his steps towards his own sitting-room and, having missed his dinner at the
table d'hote,
requested that some little trifle might be served in his parlour.

He had not enjoyed a dinner so much for many a day; nor had the wine been so well flavoured, nor had he felt so happy. And, when he took his accustomed siesta, he slept so sweetly, for he dreamt he was to be married tomorrow.

 

Again the awakening was terrible; again did the eyes of Pierce Silverton fall on the dark shadow which, on a former occasion, had put all his sweet visions to flight. It looked more ominous this time, for the room was only lighted by the moon. But in Australia, the moon when full, and if the night is fine, is bright enough to render even minute objects tolerably distinct.

Thus Pierce at once read the determination of his visitor written in coarse lines on a face swollen with drink, and inflamed with passion; far more so than usual, for that man had lately been dismissed by his employer, and his character was so bad, that it would be extremely difficult for him to meet with another. Desperation alone could have driven him into that neighbourhood, where he was suspected of having committed more than one crime of great enormity. It might be the desperation of hunger, if his habits of intoxication had not already destroyed his appetite; but there are natures in which all the coarser propensities combine together; not unlikely this, as they are not counterbalanced by the qualities of mind.

And thus, although he had enemies on all sides, he came there, even as a wolf will leave the forest when assailed by famine. Like the wolf also, he came for prey; and now, without giving Pierce Silverton time to collect his thoughts, he said roughly, “Well, you see I've come again!”

“I see you have – and would rather see the devil. What brings you here? But I need not ask; the want of money, I suppose.”

“You've hit it – and now shell out!”

“No, I will not. It is scarcely a month since I gave you a hundred pounds. I have not spent so much as that myself in that time.”

“People live according to their tastes, and my fancies are rather expensive.”

“Then why don't you work like a decent man? It is a shame to see such a great strong fellow living in idleness.”

“Idleness, do you call it; but I can tell you it is no joke to spend one's life in breaking in them brutes of horses.”

“No, nor in stealing them either. And now tell me what possessed you to take a horse from these stables the last time you were here?”

“Just to carry me across the country, to be sure; and that's all along of you, ‘cos you kick up a row about my being here.”

“I think I have a right. If I find you the means of existence, I shall dictate where you are to live. So, once for all I say, it shall not be in this colony.”

“Now that's what I call right down hard. This here colony is the one I affection the most of all the lot; besides, I like to be near a friend.”

“Do you know that it is quite possible to tire a friend with too much importunity?”

The expression of the man's face became more brutal than ever, and he said in a determined manner, “I'm not a chap to stand any gammon; and you know I've a claim on you.”

Then a look of deep anguish clouded the countenance of him who a few hours earlier had thought of love alone. After a few moments' reflection, he said, “That has been paid over and over again. I gave you three hundred pounds at the time, three hundred pounds more when you had spent the first in drunkenness and debauchery – and this being with the understanding that you should stay in England. And, even when you returned, contrary to your oath, I gave you one hundred pounds, making in all seven hundred pounds within a year. And all this to a man who is a great deal better able to work than I am.”

“But, may be, I have a sweetheart to keep. Folks say that you're making up to the old chap's daughter; so I think you might have a fellow-feeling for an old friend.”

Anger at this remark banished all other passions from the breast of Silverton, and he said, “Do not dare to couple the name of that lady with the infamous women you frequent!”

“All a matter of taste, Mr Silverton,” replied the man carelessly. “Though they do say she's a stunning fine girl – so here's wishing you joy!”

The man filled a tumbler from the decanter of pale sherry that stood on the table, and, after draining it all, said contemptuously, “Pugh! It's no better than water. Haven't you got any brandy, Mr Silverton?”

“No, I do not take brandy.”

“That makes you the milksop sort of fellow you are; but the bar's handy, so I'll trouble you to ring the bell.”

“I shall do no such thing; you have had too much already. And you must be mad! Do you want to be seen here?”

“Why, not exactly. You see I can do a thing in a genteel sort of a way. I came in through that snug little gate of yours, Mr Silverton, and if you'll just fork out another hundred pounds, I'll take myself off till–”

“Till you have spent it, I suppose. But I have not got another hundred pounds to spare. I promised that sum to be paid regularly twice a year, and you come to me at the expiration of the first month. I will put up with this imposition no longer.”

“Come, Mr Silverton, no hard words; I helped you to your fortune.”

“You did nothing of the kind. I work for my money honourably.”

“Gave you a help though, for the old chap had left you a snug little sum, and you see it wouldn't do to let him change his mind. Gentlemen will change their minds as well as poor folks.”

“What nonsense this is about poor folks! Seven hundred pounds within a year for a man that has been brought up to hard labour!”

“But them voyages I took?”

“One of them you had no right to take. Why couldn't you stay in England when you were there?”

“England be blowed! It's a dull sort of a place; and a poor devil like me can't get along there.”

The patriot drank off the remainder of the wine; but it only served still more to inflame his passions, and striking the table with some violence, he said, “Now, Mr Silverton, money I came for, and money I'll have, or by–” he concluded his threat with a terrible oath.

Silverton turned pale, but he quietly said, “Don't swear in that way, Maddox, I can't bear it.”

“Oh, you're very delicate – you can't bear this, and you can't bear that; but I'll make you bear more than you bargained for, if you don't hand out the money at once.”

“Well, sit down quietly, and we'll see what can be done. Bring me that lamp from the sideboard.”

The man placed the lamp on the table, and Silverton applied a match to it, but the double light – the strong glare of the lamp contrasting with the moonbeams – added to the ghastliness of his countenance; although that of the stranger still preserved the same look of brutal indifference.

At length Pierce Silverton took out his purse, and drawing forth a note, said, “I will give you ten pounds, and can afford no more at present.”

As he spoke, some sovereigns rolled on the floor; the ringing of the metal seemed to arouse a greedy longing in the breast of that insatiable man, who exclaimed: “You're rich – you've gold!”

“I want it. I have some expenses to meet tomorrow.”

“A gentleman like you has only to go to his banker.”

“I do not choose to overdraw my account. I have given you ten pounds, and you may take the sovereigns that have fallen down; there ought to be five or six.”

“Five or six! We'll go halves. I've had the worst part of the work, and won't be put off with the worst pay. So give us your purse.”

“I will not.”

“Oh, you won't? But we'll see about that.”

He tried to snatch the purse which Pierce Silverton put in his pocket. The man forced him back on the sofa. Pierce struggled to release himself, but the man held him down.

Yes, there they were:
Force and Fraud,
contending with each other – the two crimes, which so often unite in the destruction of mankind, now striving for the mastery.

But in that individual case it was easy to see which would conquer. Pierce Silverton was like a child in the grasp of that strong arm who, keeping one knee on his chest, and grasping at his throat, exclaimed, “Who's the master now?”

“Stand off, Maddox. I'll give you another ten pounds.”

“I'll have all or–” And still more heavily he lent on the chest of his victim. Still more tightly he grasped him by the throat.

“Maddox! Oh, God have mercy on me! Flora! Oh, Flora!”

A groan escaped from the heart of Pierce Silverton; an oath from the lips of his assailant.

Both were overheard, and in another instant half the inmates of the hotel came rushing into the room.

 

“What is the meaning of this tarnation row?” exclaimed Mr Roberts, who was the first to enter the parlour. He immediately perceived that a fierce struggle had taken place, and that one of his lodgers lay perfectly helpless in the grasp of a powerful man.

“Stand off, you ruffian,” he continued, “or you will kill the poor fellow.”