Sand on the Gumshoe: a century of Australian crime writing

It was yet early in the day when we reached Puntwater, and our first move was to refresh and brighten ourselves up at the hotel before presenting ourselves to Mrs and Miss Thorne. They expected us, though they were not aware of the day we should arrive, so no fear of their being waiting lunch or any other meal prevented us from resting before we set out for Riverdale. For that was the name bestowed by its godfathers and godmothers on Mrs Thorne’s property, and it was a pretty suitable one. It was about half a mile from the township, and situated so near the Loddon that the grounds sloped down to the river. The house itself was of brick and wood, and a prettily picturesque building, the old look of which was partly concealed by quantities of climbing plants and vines and a group of the original old monarchs of the bush in the shape of box and peppermint trees.

‘It’s the prettiest place I’ve seen for many a day,’ I observed, as Archie paused and turned toward the river. ‘You might do worse than please mamma, marry your cousin, and settle down to live a delightfully rural and domestic life.’

He did not answer, and seeing that he was intently gazing at a pretty little cottage that stood almost close to the Loddon on a lovely, sloping, green bank, I guessed at once.

‘Oh, I see! That’s the home of Bessie, the beloved, eh? And I suppose that is the sweet girl herself, sitting down there by the water, dressed in white?’

‘Where?’ he asked, eagerly.

‘Here, just below us, with her back against a tree, and her eyes, not on the book she holds in her lap, but on the river. But no, it can’t be; your fiancée is fair, and this girl is black as night. It must be Miss Thorne.’

‘It is,’ Archie answered shortly and turned to continue his way toward the cottage.

‘I say, Archie, I don’t think Miss Thorne has observed us. I have a fancy for making the acquaintance of that young lady in some unconventional ma

All right – please yourself, only mind, I didn’t tell them you were a detective.’

‘Ashamed of the D’s acquaintance, eh? Well, perhaps it’s all the better. Ta-ta.’

We had moved on a few steps, and when we parted, there were some trees between me and the young lady by the river; but when I made a circuit of them, I saw she still sat like an image of stone in the same spot.

I may well say like an image, for I never did see anything like the apparent immobility of that girl. I had an opportunity of studying her face before she observed me and before the sound of my foot attracted her. It was as calm as the river at her feet, and far more expressionless.

And it was a remarkable face for all that – one that would hold your eye as would a statue with a story in every line; it was pale as the face of a living, healthy subject could possibly be, and its pallor was apparent all the more from the strong contrast of hair – as black as night – and strongly marked, straight, black brows above black-lashed, deeply-set eyes of the hue of coal.

She was small and slight of figure and prettily dressed in black silk, and she was about twenty-three or four. Her attire was rather odd in some way – I recognised that fact at once, but I suppose in consequence of my lamentable ignorance of drapery and fashions, I could not decide where, or in what the oddity began. Her glossy hair was drawn back smoothly from her face and worn in a large coil high on the back of her head, and with the exception of a massive brooch fastening her collar, she had not a single ornament about.

I stood for a moment and examined the small and delicate, yet sharp features, and saw that the white hands crossed idly on her lap were small and thin, and that the black dress fitted her perfect figure with a precision almost wonderful. There did not seem to be a crease or a wrinkle anywhere, even in the careless attitude she held, leaning against the trunk of the old tree.

Gazing at the river, I have said, and gazing as if she was thoughtless. I mean that her face was so expressionless as to make me wonder if it could be possible for any girl of her age to sit there without thinking of anything, no more than if she were really the image I have compared her to.

‘A strange girl this, and one worth studying; though she is not the sort one might get up a pleasant, silly flirtation with, and as for falling in love with her – phew?’

Something like that, I thought to myself as I advanced until she was attracted by the sound of my footstep. She lifted up the heavy eyelashes and turned upon me a pair of blazing, black eyes that almost electrified me as they met mine.

You see, I had been speculating so on the strange immobility of the still-looking face, that when the piercing orbs looked at me with that fiery intensity, the fact struck me as though a corpse had suddenly returned to life and turned a look full of terrible vitality on me, and I assure that I took no small credit to myself and my training for especial emergencies that I managed to retain my self-possession and not to expose my astonishment to the lady.

‘Pardon me, I hope I have not startled you. If I have the honour of addressing Miss Thorne, may I introduce myself as Mr Sinclair – Archie’s friend?’

I said this with the most agreeable grimace I could summon, and with uncovered head and a bow that would have been quite low enough for any queen; but she took as much notice of me as though I was a stick until I concluded, and then she simply repeated, coldly, ‘Archie’s friend,’ just with her lips, and not the move of another facial muscle; but all at once a faint flush rose to her pale cheeks, and she rose up suddenly.

‘Pray do not let me disturb you,’ I cried, ‘I shall go away at once rather than do so.’

‘You do not disturb me. Of course, if Archie – if Mr Hope ton has arrived, I must return. Mamma will require assistance – perhaps you will accompany me?’ she added, with a hesitation so evident that it was only too apparent how much rather she would have left me behind. But I have got past the age when we begin to consider our own convenience and pleasure in preference to the indulgence of an irritable vanity, so I bowed and marched on beside her.

I tried vainly to open a conversation as we went toward the house – my original remarks on the weather and the beauty of the view from Riverdale, and got a bow or a monosyllable for my pains. She looked to all appearance as cool as an iceberg, but that there was an internal excitement under the ice was quite visible to a keen observer. The flush deepened on her cheek as we neared the cottage, and I saw that the hand, drooped to her side as she walked, was clenched so tightly that the nails were buried in the palm.

At the door we were met by Archie in person; he had seen our approach, and glad of interruption to what had proved to be a disagreeable interview with his aunt, he hastened to get me into it with the usual selfishness of his sex.

He shook hands with his cousin, hurriedly, and I saw that in spite of the firm pressure of her lips against each other, they trembled spasmodically as he addressed a few commonplaces to the girl, and then he fussily led me into a parlour and as fussily introduced me to Mrs Thorne.

There was a strong resemblance between mother and daughter, although in the face or figure of the former there was an entire absence of the immobility distinguishing the younger woman. Mrs Thorne was small and thin, and had coal-black hair and eyes also, but her figure seemed never at rest; and her eyes darted about sharply as if continually watching and sca