The Luminaries

the eleventh of October, last year.’
    ‘The eleventh of October,’ Moody echoed. ‘Did you bear witness to this assault?’
    ‘No, I did not.’
    ‘How did you learn of its occurrence?’
    ‘From Mr. Löwenthal, later that afternoon. He was the one who found her in the road—all battered and bloody. He can vouch for her condition when he found her.’
    ‘What was your business with Mr. Löwenthal that afternoon?’
    ‘An unrelated matter,’ said Staines. ‘I called on him because I wanted to put a notice in the paper.’
    ‘Regarding—?’
    ‘The purchase of a crate of Long Toms.’
    ‘When you heard the news that Miss Wetherell had been assaulted,’ said Moody, ‘were you surprised?’
    ‘No,’ said Staines. ‘I already knew Carver was a beast—and already I regretted our association ten times over. He’d offered to be my sponsor when I first arrived in Dunedin—that was how I met him, you see, when I was just off the boat, that very day. I didn’t suspect anything foul. I was very green. We shook hands in good faith, and that was that, but it wasn’t long before I started hearing things about him—and about Mrs. Carver too: they work as a team, of course. When I heard what they did to Mr. Wells, I was horrified. I’ve gone into business with a perfect swindler, I thought.’
    The boy was getting ahead of himself. Moody coughed, to remind him of the narrative sequence upon which they had agreed, and said, ‘Let’s go back to the night of the eleventh of October. What did you do, when Mr. Löwenthal advised you that Miss Wetherell had been assaulted?’
    ‘I made for the Arahura Valley directly, to give the news to Mr. Wells.’
    ‘Why did you consider the information to be of importance to Mr. Wells?’
    ‘Because he was the father of the child Miss Wetherell was carrying ,’ said Staines, ‘and I thought he might want to know that his child had been killed.’
    By now the courtroom was so quiet that Moody could hear thedistant bustle of the street. ‘How did Mr. Wells respond upon receipt of the news that his unborn child was dead?’
    ‘He was very quiet,’ said Staines. ‘He didn’t say much at all. We had a drink together, and sat awhile. I stayed late.’
    ‘Did you discuss any other matters with Mr. Wells that evening?’
    ‘I told him about the fortune I had buried near his cottage. I said that if Anna survived the night—she had been very badly beaten—then I would give her Carver’s share.’
    ‘Was your intention put down in writing on that night?’
    ‘Wells drew up a document,’ said Staines, ‘but I didn’t sign.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I don’t exactly remember why not,’ said Staines. ‘I had been drinking, and by then it was very late. Perhaps the conversation turned to other themes—or perhaps I meant to, and I forgot about it. Anyway, I slept awhile, and then returned to Hokitika in the early morning to check on Miss Wetherell’s progress to recovery. I never saw Mr. Wells again.’
    ‘Did you tell Mr. Wells where the ore was buried?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Staines. ‘I described the site in general terms.’
    Next the Magistrate’s Court heard the testimonies of Mannering, Quee, Löwenthal, Clinch, Nilssen, and Frost—all of whom described the discovery and deployment of the fortune discovered in Crosbie Wells’s cottage quite as if the retorted gold had indeed been discovered upon the Aurora. Mannering testified to the conditions under which the Aurora had been sold, and Quee to the fact of the ore’s retortion. Löwenthal detailed his interview with Alistair Lauderback on the night of the 14th of January, during which he learned about the death of Crosbie Wells. Clinch testified that he had purchased the estate the following morning. Nilssen described how the gold had been hidden in Crosbie Wells’s cottage, and Frost confirmed its value. They made no mention whatsoever of Anna’s gowns, nor of the foundered barque,
Godspeed
, nor of any of the concerns and revelations that had precipitated their secret council in the Crown Hotel three months ago. Their examinations passed without incident, and in very little time, it seemed, the justice was calling Mrs. Lydia Carver to the stand.
    She was dressed in her gown of striped charcoal, and over it, a smart black riding jacket with puffed leg-o’-mutton sleeves. Her copper hair, wonderfully bright, was piled high upon her head, the chignon held in place with a black band of velvet. As she