Читать книгу Helen Adair - Becke Louis - Страница 7

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That evening at dinner Lieutenant Willet, the second in command to Lathom, was present, having sufficiently recovered to accept Mrs. Lathom’s invitation to meet Mr. Marsbin and Dr. Haldane. He was a good-looking, but slow moving, dull-witted young man, and had, so his superior officer one day had told the doctor, but two motives for existing at all—sleeping and eating. Mrs. Lathom, who, when she first came to Waringa to join her husband, had endeavoured to draw him into a flirtation in order to while away the time during Lathom’s frequent absences, had so signally failed—purely from want of perception on the part of Mr. Willet—that she had abandoned the attempt in disgust after a few weeks. For although Lieutenant Willet was always pleased to accept an invitation from the captain’s beautiful wife (or any one else) to lunch or dinner, he invariably went to sleep as soon as he had satisfied his appetite, which was always very robust, even when he declared he felt ill and was barely able to attend to his military duties.

In addition to Mrs. Lathom, there was another lady—Mrs. McNab, a round-faced, merry-hearted little Scotswoman, who, with her husband, Captain McNab, lived six or seven miles down the river from Waringa. He was a retired naval officer, who, after a long and honourable career in the Service—the latter years of which were spent in Australian waters—had received a large grant of land from the Crown in the neighbourhood of Waringa, where he was rapidly becoming a man of flocks and herds.

Lathom had a sincere regard for McNab and his wife—whom the ex-captain had married late in life, and who was the daughter of one of the colonial officials—and knew that they would be glad to meet Haldane, for not only was he a friend but a fellow-countryman of theirs.

“Why, how is this, Mrs. McNab?” he said to her when she rode up alone. “Where is McNab?”

“He is so sorry, Captain Lathom, but he cannot come. He is expecting a visitor from Sydney this evening or to-morrow morning, and begs you and Mrs. Lathom to excuse him.”

“Ah, well, you have come, so we’ll forgive him. Haldane will be sorry, and so will my wife, as she is going to Sydney for a few months, as she told you in her note.”

“And indeed Hector wished very much to come. But this visitor—a Mr. Lugard—appears to be a friend of the Governor, who has written to Hector and asked him to do all he can to help him with regard to some inquiries he is making concerning some missing person or persons—prisoners, I imagine, from what Hector said. And then he—the coming visitor, I mean—has also been recommended to Hector by the Commissary-General, so you see it would not do for my husband to be away from home when he arrives. Hector is like you, Captain Lathom, in his admiration for the Governor, and is always glad to be able to oblige him in any way.”

“Yes, indeed; I know that. Has your visitor just arrived from England?”

“Oh, no, from Batavia. He came to Sydney in the Dutch vessel—the Leeuwarden—which arrived there a few weeks ago. From what Hector said to me he seems to be a person of means, who has come to the colony solely for the purpose I mentioned.”

“Well, I am sure we shall be glad to see him at Waringa if he makes any stay with you,” said Lathom politely, but truthfully; for he was always glad to see and entertain any stranger.

Dinner was to be served at six o’clock. An hour before that time, Helen was in the garden picking some of the few remaining flowers to adorn the dinner table, at which she was to wait—a duty she especially detested when visitors were present, but which she never tried to avoid—when old Tim limped up towards her, carrying in his hand a bunch of wild convolvulus flowers.

“Thank you, Tim,” she said gratefully, “that is just the very thing I wanted, but I had not the time to go down to the creek for some, and the table would not look at all nice with only these few poor flowers from the garden.”

“Yis, yis, dear,” he said in low tones; “but ’twas not to bring ye the flowers I came.”

He looked round carefully to see that no one was near them, and then quickly slipped a small, tightly rolled-up piece of paper into her hand.

“ ’Tis a letther for ye, dear. Hide it away, darlin’, hide it away, till ye can rade it alone.”

She slipped it into the bosom of her dress, and as she proceeded to arrange the wild flowers which the old man had brought, her hands trembled.

“Oh, Tim, Tim, don’t go away just yet. You must tell me.... Take up that fork, and pretend to dig about the border, and I shall sit down here, near you. Quick, Tim, do be quick. Mrs. Lathom may come here at any moment. Who gave you the letter?”

Tim took up the garden fork and proceeded to turn up the soil in a leisurely manner, as Helen sat down on the border and again re-sorted her flowers.

“ ’Twas wan av the boat’s crew, darlin’; ye know the man, sure—Martin Roche, the lifer.^[1] ’Twas given to him in Newcastle by another man, who brought it from Sydney. Says Roche to me the mornin’, ‘I’ve a bit av a letther for Helen Cronin, will ye give it to her?’ an’ wid that he slips it into me hand and tould me ’twas given to him in Newcastle. An’ it’s wishin’ ye lashin’s av good news in it, I am.”

“Thank you, Tim, I hope it does. You are a true friend to me, Tim. Some day, perhaps, I may be able to help you as you are now helping me,” said Helen. “Now go away, please. Here is Mrs. Lathom coming.”

Old Tim’s withered face screwed up into an expression of angry contempt. “Aye, darlin’, I see her, an’ the ‘dirthy, ugly ould man’ who stumps about wid his lame fut will get away fast enough. Sorra the day that a gintleman like the captain married a could-hearted divil like her.”

He limped away as Mrs. Lathom came up.

“Are those all the flowers you have, Helen?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Well, I must make them do. But I think you might have had more, considering the time you fritter away over the garden. Bring them in at once, then change your dress, and do try to appear with a less flushed face at dinner time. If there is anything that annoys me it is to see you with a flushed face. I want my servants to look as cool as possible, and I really wanted you to look nice this evening, as Mr. Marsbin is here. But you never consider my wishes.”

Helen made no answer as she took up the flowers and followed her mistress to the house. At any other time Mrs. Lathom’s contemptuously patronising manner of speaking to her would have filled her with a dulled resentment, but now she was too excited to think of aught else than the little roll of paper in the bosom of her dress.

As soon as she entered the house she went to her room, and hurriedly tearing off the soiled outer covering of coarse paper with which the envelope containing the letter was enwrapped, she looked for the address on the envelope itself, but found it was blank. Breaking the wafer seal, she took out a small sheet of paper, on which was written—

“A friend, who brings good news, is coming. Wait patiently; for liberty is near for father and for child.—Annalong.”

The girl pressed the paper to her lips, and then fell on her knees and breathed a silent prayer. Who was the writer of the few words she could not conjecture, but they filled her with joyful hopes, and as she donned another dress in lieu of that which she had been wearing, her veins tingled with excitement and expectation. For Annalong had once been her home in far-off Ireland, and there she had been born, and no one in all Australia but her own convict father knew of it, so perhaps this unknown friend who had sent this letter by friendly hands had seen him. Ah, her dear father! How she longed to throw her arms around his neck and weep out her sorrows on his bosom, and tell him how she had followed him through shame and degradation and misery unutterable, so that even if it were but to see each other once more in this life, they might die together.

Hastily brushing her hair, as Mrs. Lathom gave the bell an impatient ring, she walked along the verandah to the dining-room, and presently, with Walsh, was busied in carrying in the dinner. Haldane, who always spoke kindly to her, gave her a cheerful nod as he took his place at the table, so also did Mrs. McNab, whilst even Mr. Marsbin looked at her somewhat approvingly.

“Well, Mrs. McNab,” said Haldane presently, “what fresh news from Sydney? Lathom tells me that McNab had letters yesterday.”

“Nothing of great importance, doctor, except that the paper is full of the doings of the bushranger, Hewitt.”

“Ha, that villain!” exclaimed the clergyman. “And pray, madam, of what fresh crime has he been guilty?”

“Something very daring this time. Indeed it reads like an exploit of Claude Duval, and the more so inasmuch that there was a young—and of course beautiful, we must suppose—lady who figures in it.”

“And I am told that Hewitt is a remarkably handsome young Irishman,” said Lathom, with a laugh. “Pray go on, Mrs. McNab.”

“Well, it seems that Major Cartwright and a number of the military have been scouring the bush in the vicinity of Port Macquarie for some weeks past in the hope of catching Hewitt, who, as you know, succeeded in escaping from Port Arthur in Van Dieman’s Land, nearly two years ago. Why he came to this colony is a mystery, as he could very easily have got away to America in the sealing vessel which took him away from Van Dieman’s Land. But the sealing ship put into Sydney, and Hewitt went ashore there, although he must have known there was a hue and cry, as there always is if the escapee is an Irish political prisoner. However, he succeeded in secreting himself somewhere near Sydney, and the next heard of him was his waylaying the Commissary-General at Hunter’s Hill, and robbing him of two hundred pounds in gold. Then he appears to have made his way northward along the coast-line—first to Newcastle, and from there to Port Macquarie.”

“Plucky fellow,” said Lieutenant Willet; “shouldn’t like to attempt such a thing myself.”

“The mere recklessness of a hardened and criminal nature, sir, cannot be called ‘pluck.’ It is but what might be expected of a man whose hand is against that of lawful authority, and who was sentenced to transportation as a seditious person. Hum, ha!”

Haldane’s eyes twinkled. “Exactly, sir. No doubt he is a man who would not hesitate to rob the Governor himself. But we await your story, Mrs. McNab.”

“Well, he seems to have found several safe hiding-places along the coast, quite close to the towns, and one day he actually appeared in the streets of Port Macquarie riding a beautiful horse, which he had stolen from Colonel Douglas Stacey, of Rolland’s Plains. He put up at the hotel, made the acquaintance of a number of the civilian authorities, and asked them many questions concerning the prisoners there—especially those from Ireland, made notes in a pocket-book, spent money lavishly in refreshments, and finally rode off to Major Cartwright’s house and inquired for him.”

“The effrontery of the villain!” ejaculated the clergyman.

“The major, it so happened, was not at home, but Mrs. Cartwright was, and the gentlemanly stranger, who introduced himself as ‘Mr. Vincent,’ and represented himself as a personal friend of Lord De Frere, who is Mrs. Cartwright’s father, actually had lunch with her. And he certainly did know not only Lord De Frere, but the De Frere estates in Ireland very well and told Mrs. Cartwright that he had often nursed her on his knee when she was a baby. Then he went off, saying he would call again when the major returned home. The next heard of him was that he had been to Major Innes’s place at Lake Innes, where he was also hospitably entertained as ‘Mr. Vincent.’ From Major Innes he heard that the Government schooner from Sydney to Port Macquarie had put into Camden Haven through stress of weather, and that Judge Gibson and Miss Gibson, his daughter, were passengers; also that there was over £900 on board—Officials’ salaries and soldiers’ pay.”

“Ha, this is interesting,” said Haldane.

Mrs. McNab smiled and resumed, “He remarked to Major Innes that he trusted the schooner was well manned, as there were, he had heard, several escaped convicts in the vicinity of Camden Haven, men who would not hesitate to attempt to capture the Edith. Poor Major Innes fell into the trap, and said that there were but six persons on board, exclusive of the captain and Judge Gibson and his daughter.”

“Ah, Mrs. McNab,” said Lathom, “I think I can guess what followed.”

“Yes, indeed. He bade Major Innes and his family good-bye, for he had promised, he said, to return to Port Macquarie to dine with the Cartwrights. Three hours later he was at Camden Haven—it was then dark—in company with two other adventurous gentlemen like himself. They shouted to the schooner to send a boat ashore, as they had a message from Major Cartwright. A boat with the captain and two sailors put off, and the moment they landed they were made prisoners, and their arms taken from them by ‘Mr. Vincent’ and his two comrades, who tied them up securely and then went off in the boat to the Edith.

“As soon as they stepped on deck the mate and the two remaining seamen had pistols presented at their heads, and were quickly made prisoners. Then ‘Mr. Vincent,’ with many apologies to Judge Gibson said that he was Hewitt the bushranger, and that ‘the exigencies of his profession necessitated him calling on board at that late hour and relieving His Honour from the responsibility of conveying £900 to Port Macquarie in such an ill-manned and unprotected vessel as the Edith.’

“Then, after taking the money, he liberated the schooner’s cook, made him prepare a meal, and insisted upon the judge and Miss Gibson joining him in eating it. The judge, as you know, is a humorist, and accepted the situation, especially as Hewitt politely assured him that he would not dream of taking ‘any emolument’ either from himself or his daughter. Then after spending an hour on board, he liberated the mate, went on shore and freed the poor captain and his boat’s crew, brought them on board again, and asked Mr. Gibson to be allowed the honour of kissing his daughter’s hand.”

“The villain!” exclaimed Mr. Marsbin; “and no doubt he succeeded?”

“He did,” replied Mrs. McNab merrily.

“And I’ll guarantee that Gibson did not try to hide himself, like Feilding,” said Haldane, with a laugh.

[1]	A “lifer” meant a man sentenced to penal servitude “for the term of his natural life.”