The Luminaries

fetch cups and saucers from the rack above the washboard.
    ‘Will you continue in your present circumstances after Mrs. Wells is married?’ Devlin inquired.
    ‘I expect so.’
    ‘I imagine that Mr. Carver will take up residence here.’
    ‘Yes, I believe he means to.’
    ‘Their engagement was announced in the
West Coast Times
this morning. It was a very modest announcement; even, one might have said, subdued. But a wedding is always a happy event.’
    ‘I love a wedding,’ Anna said.
    ‘Yes,’ said Devlin. ‘A happy event—no matter what the circumstances .’
    It had been suggested, following the scandal precipitated by George Shepard’s letter to the editor of the
West Coast Times
one month ago, that only remarriage could ameliorate the damage the widow’s reputation had sustained. Mrs. Wells’s claim upon Crosbie Wells’s inheritance had been considerably weakened by the revelation that she had made him a cuckold in the years before his death, and her position had been weakened still further by the fact that Alistair Lauderback had made a full and very frank confession. In a public reply to George Shepard, Lauderback admitted that he had concealed the fact of the affair from the voting public, to whom he offered his sincere apologies. He wrote that he had never been more ashamed of himself, and that he accepted full responsibility for all consequences, and that until the day he died he would regret that he had arrived at Mr. Wells’s cottage half an hour too late to beg the man’s forgiveness. The confession had its desired effect; indeed, by the outpouring of sympathy and admiration that followed it, some even supposed Lauderback’s reputation to have been improved.
    Anna had finished arranging the saucers. ‘Let us go into the parlour,’ she said. ‘I’ll hear the kettle when it boils.’
    She left the tray, and padded back down the corridor to theparlour, which was set up for the widow’s afternoon appointments, with the two largest armchairs drawn very close to one another, and the curtains closed. Devlin waited for Anna to sit before he did so himself, and then he opened his Bible and withdrew the charred deed of gift from between its pages. He handed it to her without a word.
    On this 11th day of October 1865 a sum of two thousand pounds is to be given to MISS ANNA WETHERELL, formerly of New South Wales, by MR. EMERY STAINES, formerly of New South Wales, as witnessed by MR. CROSBIE WELLS, presiding.
    Anna took up the deed with a rather glazed look: she was all but illiterate, and did not expect to make sense of the words in a single glance. She knew her alphabet, and could sound out a line of print if she worked very slowly and in a very good light; it was a laborious task, however, and she made many errors. But in the next moment she snatched it up, and, with an exclamation of surprise, held it close to her eyes.
    ‘I can read this,’ she said, speaking almost in a whisper.
    Devlin did not know that Anna had never learned to read, and this pronouncement was not remarkable to him. ‘I found this document in the bottom of Crosbie Wells’s stove the day after his death,’ he said. ‘As you can see, it is an extraordinary sum of money—still more because the sum is intended as a bequest—and I confess I do not know quite what to make of it. I must warn you at the outset that, in terms of legality, the document is not good. Mr. Staines did not sign his name, which, in turn, makes Mr. Wells’s signature invalid. The witness cannot sign before the principal.’
    Anna said nothing. She was still looking at the paper.
    ‘Have you ever seen this document before?’
    ‘No,’ she said.
    ‘Did you know of its existence?’
    ‘No!’
    Devlin was alarmed: she had almost shouted the word. ‘What is it?’ he said.
    ‘I just—’ Her hand went to her throat. ‘May I ask you something ?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Have you ever—I mean, in your experience—’ She stopped herself, bit her lip, and began again. ‘Do you know why I can read this?’
    His eyes were searching hers. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
    ‘I never learned to read,’ Anna explained, ‘not properly. I mean—I can sound out a line of letters—and I know labels and signs; but that’s more like remembering than reading, because I see them every day. I could never read a paper. Not front to back. It would take me hours and hours. But this—I can read it. Without any effort, I mean. Quick as