Force and Fraud (11 page)

“It's him that's hard on Mr Lindsey; and he to call himself an Irishman, and bear a grudge because a policeman was knocked down! There he comes, the varmint!” and, as the magistrate entered, she added, “Oh, it's a nice day's work your honour's done! And may be ye'd like to forget it in the drink?”

Mrs Roberts had known Mr O'Twig, as she said, in the Auld Country, a circumstance that frequently prompted her to treat him with very little respect. O'Twig was not a general favourite, as he united to the insolence of office, ‘the rudeness of the upstart'; and having, on many occasions, punished juvenile delinquents with extreme severity, he was not likely to be extremely popular with the matrons.

O'Twig was neither tall nor short, young nor old, dark nor fair, in fact, with one exception, he could best be described by
negatives
; the exception consisted in one eye that seemed to have a great affection for the nose.

“Come don't bother us, there's a good woman, give us a glass of your best English ale; it's thirsty work sitting in the court all the morning,” exclaimed that dignitary to his hostess.

“Tom, help
Mister
O'Twig,” said Mrs Roberts to her barman.

“And the Lord send it may poison him!” cried a woman present, whose son had lately been sent to gaol for some trivial offence. Mr Lovelaw, who piqued himself on great politeness to women in all grades of society, mildly expostulated with the lady who had uttered this pious wish, saying,

“My dear madam, never let your temper get the better of your discretion. It was temper that–”

But his harangue was suddenly brought to a close, by the offended matron, who coming up to him in a belligerent attitude, called aloud, “Madam! Is it madam, ye call an honest man's wife? Bad cess to ye! Come out. I'll see if ye'll call me madam again!”

“The gentleman did not mean to offend you; madam, is a term of respect,” said the landlord, interposing.

“Any ow, tisn't fit for an honest woman, and I'll let him see if I'll stand it.”

The heroine was about to conclude her threats in a summary manner, but Mr Lovelaw had taken shelter in the bar-parlour, where he was followed by O'Twig; upon which Mrs Roberts cried out, “Your Honour's
had your
say on the
bench,
and I'll have
mine
in
the parlour.
No enemy shall go there!”

“Enemy? My dear Judith! Haven't you and I been friends this many a year,” answered O'Twig, in a coaxing tone.

“Ah! That's true. Sure I remember when your Honour was nothing but plain Tim O'Twig, and never dared take off your jacket, for fear ye couldn't put it on again along o' the rags! And many's the cup o' buttermilk my mother gave ye!”

Mr O'Twig coughed and said the fire smoked, then seizing the tongs, he began to knock the wood about, endeavouring, by the clatter, to drown the voice of his hostess. Perhaps it was to give a turn to the conversation that he addressed the house-maid, who was laying the table for her mistress's dinner, as he said, “Mary, my dear, get some other sort of wood; that stringy bark is no good.”

“The
gentlemen
never ask me to fetch up wood. There's the bellows, ye may blow up the fire yourself,” said Mary, letting the bellows fall on the feet of the visitor.

“And what is it ye want with a fire in summer, Mr O'Twig!” asked Mrs Roberts, although it had been ordered by herself.

“Don't you see how it rains? You wouldn't like an old friend to be drowned, would you, Judith?” asked the magistrate.

“No fear o'
drowning
for ye, Mister O'Twig,” replied the landlady with marked emphasis.

“Oh, for the matter
of hanging,
that may fall to the lot of the young gentleman who has run away with the hearts of all you women.”

“The hemp to make a cord for
his
neck is not grown yet; but bad luck to ye, Timothy O'Twig, that puts him in danger! Och, ye needn't be squinting at me with your old cockle eye! I've known ye ever since ye were a bit of a ragged gassoon, and have given ye the shoes off my feet, and
that's
your gratitude!”

“My dear Mrs Roberts,” said Mr Lovelaw, coming to the relief of the magistrate. “You ought to be reasonable. Does it follow that because you happened to be acquainted with my worthy friend in his earlier days, he should stretch the law so far as to shield a supposed murderer?”

“I don't care what he stretches, but he shan't stretch them bad legs of his under my table. He may go to
The Ordinary
or
The Wild Boar;
it's more fitting for him than a respectable hotel like
The Southern Cross
. Mr Lindsey is no murderer; and them that says he is are no friends of mine.”

“Well, well, Judith, my dear!” said O'Twig, in his coaxing tone. “The young man shall meet with justice; and perhaps this bushman with his dog that talks Gaelic.”

There was a general laugh against Mr O'Twig; and Mrs Roberts taking advantage of it, turned the tables on her countryman, exclaiming, “Make the likes of him a Jay Pea, indeed!”

“Mr O'Twig is a
P.M.
you know, Mrs Roberts,” said Mr Lovelaw.

“I make no more account of Pea Hens, than Jay Peas,” replied the landlady.

“And I might have been your husband, if you hadn't been in such a hurry to take up with that Yankee chap of yours,” said the magistrate, who, in consequence of sipping at various stimulants, had become rather sentimental.

The anger of Mrs Roberts increased at this insinuation, and she exclaimed, “And do you think I would have taken up with ye? Though't wasn't for the rags and bare feet on ye, for honesty can go along with them; but I know ye, Timothy O'Twig. I knew ye when ye kept the shanty in Melbourne in the old times, and made a power o' money by sly-grog selling; and though ye do be a Pea Hen, ye'z nothing but varmint!”

Mr Lovelaw, alarmed at the idea of what might ensue, took the magistrate by the arm, saying, “Come along, O'Twig, there is no use in trying to reason with women; they are only creatures of instinct.”

“Bother reason! Women can be good friends, and
that
we all are, in this house, to Mr Lindsey,” exclaimed the landlady, as her guests retired.

“Troth, and we
are,
Ma'am,” sobbed out Mary, who, since the adventure of the morning, had been quite beside herself with grief.

“Does any body here think
he
did it?” asked Mrs Roberts.

“He? The poor gentleman! We all know he didn't,” replied the girl.

“Don't say you
know.
Say you
hope,
Mary,” said Harry, who was lingering about the bar.

“I'll say what I like, Harry, and I couldn't believe it, unless I'd seen it with my own eyes,” answered Mary.

“I couldn't believe my eyes if I had seen him,” cried Mrs Roberts.

“Come, Harry, you and I will discuss the matter over a glass; these women talk nothing but nonsense,” said the landlord, who now entered.

“There's no good in discussing rationally, Roberts. Mr Lindsey either murdered old McAlpin, or he didn't; and we know he
didn't
,” replied Mr Roberts' better half.

“How do you
know,
Judy, you can't swear an
alibi.
”

“I'm not going to swear at the ale you buy! But I say he didn't do it, because he wouldn't.”

“Well, I don't suspect him myself. The only doubt I have is that he might have met McAlpin, and a quarrel ensued – Mac
was
very aggravating. And then no one knows what might have taken place.”

“That's what I'm afraid of. He did turn so terrible white when he saw the blood on the sponge,” said Harry Saunders.

“If you say anything against him at the trial, I'll never marry you, Harry, mind that.”

“I won't do him any harm if I can avoid it, but I must speak the truth on oath,” answered Harry, whose countenance suddenly brightened, and he added, as if struck by a sudden thought, “Mr Roberts, though they say that knocking down the policeman will go against him,
I
think it looks honest. For you see, when a man's awoke all of a sudden, he's sure to be flabbergasted. But it wasn't Mr Lindsey's instinct to duck under the bed clothes; or bolt through the window. And, again, I like him because he wouldn't tell them fellows of magistrates, what he came here for.
We
all know it was to court Miss McAlpin; but you may depend upon it, a man who doesn't go blabbing a woman's name about, is of the right sort, and–”

Here Harry's logic was cut short by Mrs Roberts crying out, “Oh dear! Oh dear! Poor Miss Flora! How she will take on when she knows.”

“It's just like a story I am reading in
Reynold's Miscellany
, about a man on a black horse–”

But Mary's illustration was interrupted by the entrance of the cook, who came to receive orders respecting the Freemason's dinner, which was to take place at
The Southern Cross
on the morrow. At the moment she opened the door, Harry Saunders was dwelling gloomily on the incident of Lindsey's dream, as explained by his waking exclamations, which had been commented on pretty freely during the day.

“Lor bless you!” exclaimed the cook. “It was all along o' them pork sausages he did eat a power last night. But, Missis dear, this stir has kept me back with the cooking; there's no end of people who came to the kitchen to ask the news.”

“And see you tell them all, you know Mr Lindsey didn't do it.”

“Av course! I know the gentleman is as innocent as that sucking pig; which'll be beautiful tender, though I haven't got enough apples for the sauce, Mrs Roberts. And the butcher's boy, when he fetched the lamb, said he'd bet a new hat that Mr Lindsey
did
murder auld McAlpin.”

“The impudence of him! And what did you do, Bridget?”

“Just whollopped him out o' the kitchen with the pot-stick, to be sure!”

“Served him right! If Mr Steak doesn't want to lose the custom of
The Southern Cross
, he'll make that boy shut up! Here, take this glass of whiskey, Bridget, whilst I get out the things for the tipsy cake.”

When the cook had received the ingredients required for that delicacy, she retired, and Mrs Roberts once more ensconced herself in the rocking chair. She was not long allowed to take her ease, as the stage-coach was heard rattling up the street, and she knew it would bring an influx of guests to
The Southern Cross
. So, passing her hands over the braids of her bright black hair, she called up her most winning smile, and advanced to meet the passengers.

These, with one exception, were promptly attended to by the various functionaries of the establishment; and
that exception
, by the landlady herself, for
he
happened to be Mr Silverton. To him she related the disastrous event of the morning.

Pierce Silverton was thunderstruck. Mrs Roberts, thinking he would faint, called to the barman for a restorative; and Harry Saunders exclaimed, “Why, Mr Silverton, I declare you are more dashed than poor Mr Lindsey was.”

“I
am
shocked! My best friend – murder the father of the woman he wishes to marry!” exclaimed Pierce.

“Well, I never thought about it in that way,” cried Mrs Roberts. “But it seems more unlikely than ever, and I'll swear he no more did it than I did.”

“Nobody will suspect you, Judith,” said her husband, “though you'll very likely be examined at the trial, as you came from your sister's that morning, and the road Tom always takes with the dogcart is just over that spot.”

“Well, I didn't meet McAlpin, nor Mr Lindsey, nor any body; only – oh dear, oh dear!”

“What's the matter?”

“Something I picked up when the pin came out of the wheel of the dogcart; but Mr Lindsey didn't commit the murder for all that. I liked him the first time I set eyes on him, and don't mean to turn against him now; no, not if things looked ten times worse than they do.”

As soon as Mr Silverton recovered from his agitation, he asked Saunders if Miss McAlpin had heard of the occurrence.

“Not that I know of, Mr Silverton,” replied Harry. “I left the station early this morning, and have not been back since, more shame for me! The poor young lady will want every friend she has got; and I'm her friend, though only a humble one.”

“You are a good fellow, Harry. Get a couple of horses, and we'll ride over together. Poor girl! Her father murdered by her lover! It's a sad world, Saunders!”

“It is, sir; but maybe he didn't do it after all.”

“I wish I could think so, Saunders. See to the horses whilst I take a cup of tea.”

Pierce Silverton joined the coach passengers at the evening meal, and Saunders followed Mr Roberts into the stable, remarking, as the landlord was selecting a horse for the new comer, “How sure some people seem to be about things.”

“Ah, yes! Women often talk in that way: when they take a liking to any one, they don't give him up in a hurry. And when they
dislike
– by Jingo! – it's a terrible down they have on a fellow.”

“It isn't what the women were saying that's bothering me just now, Mr Roberts. I'm thinking that Mr Silverton talks as if he knew for certain sure that Mr Lindsey did this thing.”

Mr Roberts looked into the face of his companion, and exclaimed, “Eh!”

“Watch him, that's all, and you'll find he speaks a deal more positive like than them that were in court today, and heard all the ins and outs of the business.”

“Hum, that's queer! But what is
your
candid opinion, Saunders?”

“Why, you see, Mr Roberts, I'm
bothered
. One moment I think as the women do – that Mr Lindsey
wouldn't do it.
And another I think as the magistrates did – that
nobody else could
.”