News from the Gold Mines
It was said at the beginning of the last chapter that things had gone on
smoothly, or with apparent smoothness, at Folking since the return of
the Caldigates from their wedding tour; but there had in truth been a
small cloud in the Folking heavens over and beyond that Babington haze
which was now vanishing, and the storm at Chesterton as to which hopes
were entertained that it would clear itself away. It will perhaps be
remembered that Caldigate's offer for the sale of his interest in the
Polyeuka mine had been suddenly accepted by certain enterprising persons
in Australia, and that the money itself had been absolutely forthcoming.
This had been in every way fortunate, as he had been saved from the
trouble of another journey to the colony; and his money matters had been
put on such a footing as to make him altogether comfortable. But just
when he heard that the money had been lodged to his account,--and when
the money actually had been so paid,--he received a telegram from Mr.
Crinkett, begging that the matter might be for a time postponed. This,
of course, was out of the question. His terms had been accepted,--which
might have gone for very little had not the money been forthcoming. But
the cash was positively in his hands. Who ever heard of a man
'postponing' an arrangement in such circumstances? Let them do what they
might with Polyeuka, he was safe! He telegraphed back to say that there
could be no postponement. As far as he was concerned the whole thing was
settled. Then there came a multiplicity of telegrams, very costly to the
Crinkett interest;--costly also and troublesome to himself; for he,
though the matter was so pleasantly settled as far as he was concerned,
could not altogether ignore the plaints that were made to him. Then
there came very long letters, long and loud; letters not only from
Crinkett, but from others, telling him that the Polyeuka gold had come
to an end, the lode disappearing altogether, as lodes sometimes do
disappear. The fact was that the Crinkett Company asked to have back half
its money, offering him the Polyeuka mine in its entirety if he chose to
accept it.
John Caldigate, though in England he could be and was a liberal
gentleman, had been long enough in Australia to know that if he meant to
hold his own among such men as Mr. Crinkett, he must make the best of
such turns of fortune as chance might give him. Under no circumstances
would Crinkett have been generous to him. Had Polyeuka suddenly become
more prolific in the precious metal than any mine in the colony the
Crinkett Company would have laughed at any claim made by him for further
payment. When a bargain has been fairly made, the parties must make
the best of it. He was therefore very decided in his refusal to make
restitution, though he was at the same time profuse in his expressions
of sorrow.
Then there came a threat,--not from Crinkett, but from Mrs. Euphemia
Smith. And the letter was not signed Euphemia Smith,--but Euphemia
Caldigate. And the letter was as follows:---
'In spite of all your treachery to me I do not wish to ruin you, or
to destroy your young wife, by proving myself in England to have
been married to you at Ahalala. But I will do so unless you assent
to the terms which Crinkett has proposed. He and I are in
partnership in the matter with two or three others, and are willing
to let all that has gone before be forgotten if we have means given
us to make another start. You cannot feel that the money you have
received is fairly yours, and I can hardly think you would wish to
become rich by taking from me all that I have earned after so many
hardships. If you will do as I propose, you had better send out an
agent. On paying us the money he shall not only have the
marriage-certificate, but shall stand by and see me married to
Crinkett, who is now a widower. After that, of course, I can make no
claim to you. If you will not do this, both I and Crinkett, and the
other man who was present at our marriage, and Anne Young, who has
been with me ever since, will go at once to England, and the law
must take its course.
'I have no scruple in demanding this as you owe me so much more.
'Allan, the Wesleyan who married us, has gone out of the colony, no
one knows where,--but I send you the copy of the certificate; and
all the four of us who were there are still together. And there were
others who were at Ahalala at the time, and who remember the
marriage well. Dick Shand was not in the chapel, but Dick knew all
about it. There is quite plenty of evidence.
'Send back by the wire word what you will do, and let your agent
come over as soon as possible.
'EUPHEMIA CALDIGATE.'
However true or however false the allegations made in the above letter
may have been, for a time it stunned him greatly. This letter reached
him about a month before the birth of his son, and for a day or two it
disturbed him greatly. He did not show it to his wife, but wandered
about the place alone thinking whether he would take any notice of it,
and what notice. At last he resolved that he would take the letter to
his brother-in-law Robert, and ask the attorney's advice. 'How much of
it is true?' demanded Robert, when he read the letter twice from
beginning to end.
'A good deal,' said Caldigate,--'as much as may be, with the exception
that I was never married to the woman.'
'I suppose not that.' Robert Bolton as he spoke was very grave, but did
not at first seem disposed to be angry. 'Had you not better tell me
everything, do you think?'
'It is for that purpose that I have come and brought you the letter. You
understand about the money.'
'I suppose so.'
'There can be no reason why I should return a penny of it?'
'Certainly not, now. You certainly must not return it under a
threat,--even though the woman should be starving. There can be no
circumstances--' and as he spoke he dashed his hand down upon the
table,--'no circumstances in which a man should allow money to be
extorted from him by a threat. For Hester's sake you must not do that.'
'No;--no; I must not do that, of course.'
'And now tell me what is true?' There was something of authority in the
tone of his voice, something perhaps of censure, something too of doubt,
which went much against the grain with Caldigate. He had determined to
tell his story, feeling that counsel was necessary to him, but he wished
so to tell it as to subject himself to no criticism and to admit no
fault. He wanted assistance, but he wanted it on friendly and
sympathetic terms. He had a great dislike to being--'blown up,' as he
would probably have expressed it himself, and he already thought that he
saw in his companion's eye a tendency that way. Turning all this in his
mind, he paused a moment before he began to tell his tale. 'You say that
a good deal in this woman's letter is true. Had you not better tell me
what is true?'
'I was very intimate with her.'
'Did she ever live with you?'
'Yes, she did.'
'As your wife?'
'Well; yes. It is of course best that you should know all.' Then he gave
a tolerably true account of all that had happened between himself and
Mrs. Smith up to the time at which, as the reader knows, he found her
performing at the Sydney theatre.
'You had made her a distinct promise of marriage on board the ship?'
'I think I had.'
'You think?'
'Yes. I think I did. Can you not understand that a man may be in great
doubt as to the exact words that he may have spoken at such a time?'
'Hardly.'
'Then I don't think you realise the man's position. I wish to let you
know the truth as exactly as I can. You had better take it for granted
that I did make such a promise, though probably no such promise was
absolutely uttered. But I did tell her afterwards that I would marry
her.'
'Afterwards?'
'Yes, when she followed me up to Ahalala.'
'Did Richard Shand know her?'
'Of course he did,--on board the ship;--and he was with me when she came
to Ahalala.'
'And she lived with you?'
'Yes.'
'And you promised to marry her?'
'Yes.'
'And was that all?'
'I did not marry her, of course,' said Caldigate.
'Who heard the promise?'
'It was declared by her in the presence of that Wesleyan minister she
speaks of. He went to her to rebuke her, and she told him of the
promise. Then he asked me, and I did not deny it. At the moment when he
taxed me with it I was almost minded to do as I had promised.'
'You repeated your promise, then, to him?'
'Nothing of the kind. I did not deny it, and I told him at last to mind
his own business. Life up there was a little rough at that time.'
'So it seems, indeed. And then, after that?'
'I had given her money and she had some claims in a gold-mine. When she
was successful for a time she became so keen about her money that I
fancy she hardly wished to get herself married. Then we had some words,
and so we parted.'
'Did she call herself--Mrs. Caldigate?'
'I never called her so.'
'Did she herself assume the name?'
'It was a wild kind of life up there, Robert, and this was apparent in
nothing more than in the names people used. I daresay some of the
people did call her Mrs. Caldigate. But they knew she was not my wife.'
'And this man Crinkett?'
'He knew all about it.'
'He had a wife. Did his wife know her?'
'He had quarrelled with his wife at that time and had sent her away from
Nobble. Mrs. Smith was then living at Nobble, and Crinkett knew more
about her than I did. She was mad after gold, and it was with Crinkett
she was working. I gave her a lot of shares in another mine to leave
me.'
'What mine?'
'The Old Stick-in-the-Mud they called it. I had been in partnership with
Crinkett and wanted to get out of the thing, and go in altogether for
Polyeuka. At that time the woman cared little for husbands or lovers.
She had been bitten with the fury of gold-gambling and, like so many of
them, filled her mind with an idea of unlimited wealth. And she had a
turn of luck. I suppose she was worth at one time eight or ten thousand
pounds.'
'But she did not keep it?'
'I knew but little of her afterwards. I kept out of her way; and though
I had dealings with Crinkett, I dropped them as soon as I could.' Then
he paused,--but Robert Bolton held his peace with anything but a
satisfied countenance. 'Now I think you know all about it.'
'It is a most distressing story.'
'All attempts at robbery and imposition are of course distressing.'
'There is so much in it that is--disgraceful.'
'I deny it altogether,--if you mean disgraceful to me.'
'If it had all been known as it is known now,--as it is known even by
your own telling, do you think that I should have consented to your
marriage with my sister?'
'Why not?' Robert Bolton shrugged his shoulders. 'And I think,
moreover, that had you refused your consent I should have married your
sister just the same.'
'Then you know very little about the matter.'
'I don't think there can be any good in going into that. It is at any
rate the fact that your sister is my wife. As this demand has been made
upon me it was natural that I should wish to discuss it with some one
whom I can trust. I tell you all the facts, but I am not going to listen
to any fault-finding as to my past life.'
'Poor Hester!'
'Why is she poor? She does not think herself so.'
'Because there is a world of sorrow and trouble before her; and because
all that you have told to me must probably be made known to her.'
'She knows it already;--that is, she knows what you mean. I have not
told her of the woman's lie, nor of this demand for money. But I shall
when she is strong enough to hear it and to talk of it. You are very
much mistaken if you think that there are secrets between me and
Hester.'
'I don't suppose you will be pleased to hear the story of such a life
told in all the public papers.'
'Certainly not;--but it will be an annoyance which I can bear. You or
any one else would be very much mistaken who would suppose that life out
in those places can go on in the same regular way that it does here.
Gold beneath the ground is a dangerous thing to touch, and few who have
had to do with it have come out much freer from misfortune than myself.
As for these people, I don't suppose that I shall hear from them again.
I shall send them both word that not a shilling is to be expected from
me.'
There was after this a long discussion as to the nature of the messages
to be sent. There was no absolute quarrel between the two men, and the
attorney acknowledged to himself that it was now his duty to give the
best advice in his power to his brother-in-law; but their manner to each
other was changed. It was evident that Robert did not quite believe all
that Caldigate told him, and evident also that Caldigate resented this
want of confidence. But still each knew that he could not do without the
other. Their connection was too firm and too close to be shaken off.
And, therefore, though their tones were hardly friendly, still they
consulted as to what should be done. It was at last decided that two
messages should be sent by Caldigate, one to Crinkett and the other to
Mrs. Smith, and each in the same words. 'No money will be sent you on
behalf of the Polyeuka mine,' and that this should be all. Any letter,
Robert Bolton thought, would be inexpedient. Then they parted, and the
two messages were at once sent.
After a day or two Caldigate recovered his spirits. We all probably know
how some trouble will come upon us and for a period seem to quell all
that is joyous in our life, and that then by quick degrees the weight of
the trouble will grow less, till the natural spring and vivacity of the
mind will recover itself, and make little or nothing of that which a few
hours ago was felt to be so grievous a burden. So it had been with John
Caldigate. He had been man enough to hold up his head when telling his
story to Robert Bolton, and to declare that the annoyance would be one
that he could bear easily;--but still for some hours after that he had
been unhappy. If by sacrificing some considerable sum of money,--even a
large sum of money, say ten thousand pounds,--he could at that moment
have insured the silence of Crinkett and the woman, he would have paid
his money. He knew the world well enough to be aware that he could
insure nothing by any such sacrifice. He must defy these claimants;--and
then if they chose to come to England with their story, he must bear it
as best he could. Those who saw him did not know that aught ailed him,
and Robert Bolton spoke no word of the matter to any one at Cambridge.
But Robert Bolton thought very much of it,--so much that on the
following day he ran up to London on purpose to discuss the matter with
his brother William. How would it be with them, and what would be his
duty, if the statement made by the woman should turn out to be true?
What security had they after the story told by Caldigate himself that
there had been no marriage? By his own showing he had lived with the
woman, had promised to marry her, had acknowledged his promise in the
hearing of a clergyman, and had been aware that she had called herself
by his name. Then he had given her money to go away. This had been his
own story. 'Do you believe him?' he said to his brother William.
'Yes; I do. In the first place, though I can understand from his
antecedents and from his surroundings at the time, that he should have
lived a loose sort of life when he was out there, I don't think that he
is a rascal or even a liar.'
'One wouldn't wish to think so.'
'I do not think so. He doesn't look like it, or talk like it, or act
like it.'
'How many cases do we know in which some abominable unexpected villainy
has destroyed the happiness and respectability of a family?'
'But what would you do?' asked the barrister. 'She is married to him.
You cannot separate them if you would.'
'No,--poor girl. If it be so, her misery is accomplished; but if it be
so she should at once be taken away from him. What a triumph it would be
to her mother!'
That is a dreadful thing to say, Robert.'
'But nevertheless true. Think of her warnings and refusals, and of my
persistence! But if it be so, not the less must we all insist
upon--destroying him. If it be so, he must be punished to the extent of
the law.'
William Bolton, however, would not admit that it could be so, and Robert
declared that though he suspected,--though in such a case he found
himself bound to suspect,--he did not in truth believe that Caldigate
had been guilty of so terrible a crime. All probability was against
it;--but still it was possible. Then, after much deliberation, it was
decided that an agent should be sent out by them to New South Wales, to
learn the truth, as far as it could be learned, and to bring back
whatever evidence might be collected without making too much noise in
the collection of it. Then there arose the question whether Caldigate
should be told of this;--but it was decided that it should be done at
the joint expense of the two brothers without the knowledge of Hester's
husband.