Читать книгу Force and Fraud - Ellen Davitt - Страница 9

The intelligence of her father’s death was conveyed to Flora in the most abrupt manner, as on her return from meeting Herbert Lindsey a smart girl came running towards her, exclaiming, “Oh! Miss Flora dear, the master’s killed!”

The moral shock, succeeding to physical exertion, overcame poor Flora, and she fell senseless on the ground. Her incautious informant then screamed with all her might, “Och, murder! Sure she’s kilt too! Och? What will I do?”

Flora was carried into the house and, after some delay, a doctor arrived, who prescribed a composing draught, and quiet. The latter remedy was not easily obtained in that agitated household. The hut-keeper’s wife, a woman of some experience in sickness, volunteered her services; and a few hours later, the wife of a neighbouring squatter came to offer her sympathy and assistance.

Poor Flora’s state was not likely to be much amended by the presence of either of her nurses, for although extremely kind and not devoid of skill, they were both afflicted with a morbid love for the sensational; and whilst in attendance on their patient, entertained each other with stories of accidents and adventures in the bush.

The squatter’s lady had a tale of a murdered man who, some years previously, had been found tied to a tree, having died apparently in the greatest agony. The hut-keeper’s dame related the capture and death of a bushranger, under circumstances equally appalling. Most graphically did these good wives detail the accounts of ghastly wounds and every horrible circumstance, talking sotto voce all the time but in that tone so painfully audible to the delirious invalid. And Flora, who lay in a state of half consciousness, both from the effects of her attack and its remedy, raved about her father, and also frequently uttered the name of Herbert Lindsey.

“I hope they will not see you, Herbert!”

“Oh! I would not have you meet my father for the world!”

“Yes, very soon there will be nothing to prevent our marriage!”

These were the disjointed exclamations of the feverish girl which, as will readily be imagined, created great wonder and dismay. These expressions, together with the symptoms of the patient were told to the doctor; but he made no comment, desiring, as before, that Miss Flora should be kept perfectly quiet.

A few hours after the news of McAlpin’s death had reached the station, Pierce Silverton, who had previously heard of the calamity, arrived there. He had come with the intention of breaking the intelligence gently to the orphan girl, and therefore seemed very much shocked when told of her condition. He then resolved to seek Herbert Lindsey, and inform him of what had taken place.

But the lover too had already heard of the occurrence. On his return to his hotel, he found all its inmates in a state of the greatest excitement relative to the murder of McAlpin.

“Great God! You don’t say so, Mrs Roberts?” exclaimed Mr Lindsey to his landlady, who came forward to relate her version of the disaster.

“Yes; it is too true! But, bless me, Mr Lindsey, how pale you do look! Here, take a little brandy.”

Herbert accepted that universal panacea for all evils, whether moral or physical, and – although by no means addicted to strong liquors – drank off the fiery draught as if it had been water.

“Poor Flora! I must go to her at once, Mrs Roberts!” cried Lindsey, as soon as he himself recovered from the shock of the terrible intelligence.

“Ah! Poor dear! They say she takes on greatly,” replied the sympathising hostess who, for some time, had been in on the lovers’ secret.

At that instant, Pierce Silverton entered and, with some difficulty, convinced his friend that all attempts to see Miss McAlpin would be useless; a notification that greatly increased Lindsey’s anxiety. Mr Silverton, however, could delay no longer, having been summoned to attend the inquest; the particulars of which have been already related.

The funeral was fixed for the following day, and Mr Silverton, though he entrusted the immediate arrangements to an undertaker, busied himself a good deal in mustering the principal gentry who resided in that locality. It was against his advice that Herbert Lindsey insisted on attending. Carriages of various kinds followed the hearse; after them came a long train of horsemen, chiefly squatters and farmers, who had been intimately acquainted with the deceased; and the procession was lengthened by a number of people belonging to the Freemasons’ lodge, that of Odd Fellows, and several other societies. And thus the Son of the North was laid in his Southern Grave.