The Luminaries

attempt upon your own life, that night?’
    ‘I meant to go under,’ said Anna, ‘but I never set out to do myself real harm.’
    ‘When you were tried for the crime of attempted suicide—in this very courtroom—you refused to enter a plea. Why have you changed your tune in this regard?’
    This was a question that Moody and Anna had not rehearsed, and for a moment he felt anxious that she would falter; but she responded calmly, and with the truth. ‘At that time Mr. Staines was still missing,’ she said. ‘I thought he might have gone upriver, or into the gorge, in which case he’d be reading the Hokitika papers for news. I didn’t want to say anything that he might read, and think less of me.’
    Broham coughed into the back of his knuckles, dryly. ‘Please describe what happened on the evening of the fourteenth of January,’ he said, ‘in sequence, and in your own words.’
    She nodded. ‘I met Mr. Staines at the Dust and Nugget around seven. We had a drink together, and then he escorted me back to his residence on Revell-street. At about ten o’clock I went back to the Gridiron and lit my pipe. I was feeling strange, as I’ve said, andI took a little more than usual. I suppose I must have left the Gridiron while I was still under, because the next thing I remember is waking up in gaol.’
    ‘What do you mean when you say that you were feeling strange?’
    ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘just that I was melancholy—and very happy—and disconsolate, all mixed up. I can’t describe it exactly.’
    ‘At some point that same night, Mr. Staines disappeared,’ Broham said. ‘Do you know where he went?’
    ‘No,’ Anna said. ‘Last I saw him was at his residence on Revell-street . He was asleep. He must have disappeared sometime after I left him.’
    ‘Sometime after ten o’clock, in other words.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘I waited for him to come back—and he didn’t—and the days kept passing, with no sign of him. When Mrs. Wells offered me board at the Wayfarer, I thought it best to take it. Just for the meantime. Everyone was saying that he was surely dead.’
    ‘Did you see Mr. Staines at any point between the fourteenth of January and the twentieth of March?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Did you have any correspondence with him?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Where do you think he went, during that period?’
    Anna opened her mouth to reply, and Moody, rising quickly, said, ‘I object: the defendant cannot be forced to speculate.’
    Again the justice allowed the objection, and Broham was invited to continue.
    ‘When Mr. Staines was recovered, on the afternoon of the twentieth of March, there was a bullet in his shoulder,’ he said. ‘At the time of your rendezvous on the fourteenth of January, was Mr. Staines injured?’
    ‘No,’ said Anna.
    ‘Did he become injured, that evening?’
    ‘Not that I know of,’ said Anna. ‘Last I saw him, he was fine. He was sleeping.’
    Broham picked up a muff pistol from the barristers’ desk. ‘Do you recognise this firearm, Miss Wetherell?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Anna, squinting at it. ‘That’s mine.’
    ‘Do you carry this weapon on your person?’
    ‘I used to, when I was working. I kept it in the front of my dress.’
    ‘Were you carrying it on the night of the fourteenth of January?’
    ‘No: I left it at the Gridiron. Under my pillow.’
    ‘But you were working on the night of the fourteenth of January, were you not?’
    ‘I was with Mr. Staines,’ Anna said.
    ‘That was not my question,’ Broham said. ‘Were you working on the night of the fourteenth of January?’
    ‘Yes,’ Anna said.
    ‘And yet—as you allege—you left your pistol at home.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I didn’t think I’d need it,’ Anna said.
    ‘But this was an aberration: ordinarily it would have been on your person.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Can anyone vouch for the pistol’s whereabouts that evening?’
    ‘No,’ Anna said. ‘Unless someone looked under my pillow.’
    ‘The cartridge found in Mr. Staines’s shoulder issued from a pistol of this type,’ Broham said. ‘Did you shoot him?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Do you know who did?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    Broham coughed into his knuckles again. ‘Were you aware, upon the night of the fourteenth of January, of Mr. Staines’s net worth as a prospector?’
    ‘I knew he was rich,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows that.’
    ‘Did you discuss the fortune discovered in the cottage of Mr. Crosbie Wells with Mr. Staines, either