The Luminaries

point, it was unsigned,’ said Shepard. ‘Miss Wetherell brought the same document into the courthouse on the afternoon of the twentieth of March, and it was signed. There are only two explanations. Either she forged the signature herself, which I believe to be the case,
or
she was in collusion with Mr. Staines during his period of absence—and in that case, she has perjured in a court of law.’
    ‘In fact there is a third explanation,’ Moody said. ‘If indeed that signature
is
a forgery, as you so vehemently attest it is, then somebody other than Anna might have signed it. Somebody who knew that document was in the chaplain’s possession, and who desired very much—for whatever reason—to see Miss Wetherell indicted.’
    Shepard’s expression was cold. ‘I resent your implication, Mr. Moody.’
    Moody reached into his wallet and produced a small slip of paper. ‘I have here,’ he said, ‘a promissory note dated June of last year, submitted by Mr. Richard Mannering, which bears Miss Wetherell’s own mark. Do you notice anything about Miss Wetherell’s signature, Governor?’
    Shepard examined the note. ‘She signed with an X,’ he said at last.
    ‘Precisely: she signed with an X,’ Moody said. ‘If Miss Wetherell can’t even sign her own name, Governor Shepard, what on earth makes you think that she can produce a perfect replica of someone else’s?’
    All eyes were on Shepard. He was still looking at the promissory note.
    ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Moody to the justice. ‘I have no further questions.’
    ‘All right, Mr. Moody,’ said the justice, in a voice that might have conveyed either amusement or disapproval. ‘You may step down.’

VENUS IS A MORNING STAR
    In which a temptation presents itself, under a guise.
    Once the
Fortunate Wind
reached her mooring at Port Chalmers, and the gangways were lowered to the docks, Anna was obliged to join the women’s queue, in order to be inspected by the medical officials. From the quarantine shelter she went on to the customhouse , to have her entry papers stamped and approved. After these interviews were completed, she was directed to the depot, to see about picking up her trunk (it was a very small one, barely larger than a hatbox; she could almost hold it beneath one arm) and there she met with a further delay, her trunk having been loaded onto another lady’s carriage by mistake. By the time this error was corrected , and her luggage recovered, it was well past noon. Emerging from the depot at last, Anna looked about hopefully for the golden-haired boy who had so delighted her upon the deck that morning, but she saw nobody she recognised: her fellow passengers had long since dispersed into the crush of the city. She set her trunk down on the quay, and took a moment to straighten her gloves.
    ‘Excuse me, miss,’ came a voice, approaching, and Anna turned: the speaker was a copper-haired woman, plump and smooth-complexioned ; she was very finely dressed in a gown of green brocade. ‘Excuse me,’ she said again, ‘but are you by any chance newly arrived in town?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Anna. ‘I arrived just now—this morning.’
    ‘On which vessel, please?’
    ‘The
Fortunate Wind
, ma’am.’
    ‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘yes: well, in that case perhaps you can help me. I’m waiting for a young woman named Elizabeth Mackay. She’s around your age, plain, slim, dressed like a governess, travelling alone …’
    ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen her,’ said Anna.
    ‘She will be nineteen this August,’ the woman went on. ‘She’s my cousin’s cousin; I’ve never met her before, but by all accounts she is very well kept, and moderately pretty. Elizabeth Mackay is her name. You haven’t seen her?’
    ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am.’
    ‘What was the name of your ship—the
Fortunate Wind
?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Where did you board?’
    ‘Port Jackson.’
    ‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘That was it. The
Fortunate Wind
, coming from Sydney.’
    ‘I’m sorry to say that there were no young ladies aboard the
Fortunate Wind
, ma’am,’ said Anna, squinting a little. ‘There was a Mrs. Paterson, travelling with her husband, and a Mrs. Mader, and a Mrs. Yewers, and a Mrs. Cooke—but they’re all on the wiser side of forty, I would say. There was no one who might have passed for nineteen.’
    ‘Oh dear,’ said the woman, biting her lip. ‘Dear, dear, dear.’
    ‘Is there a problem, ma’am?’
    ‘Oh,’