Sand on the Gumshoe: a century of Australian crime writing

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Hester, however, took no notice of her and made no remark; but, when Archie had gone, she got up and walked through the open window to the garden. It was a lovely evening, and there was sufficient excuse in the beauty of the time and weather to make Mrs Thorne’s proposal of a walk an apparently sensible one.

‘It would be a shame to keep you indoors, Mr Sinclair,’ she said, moving towards the door. ‘And rather than do so, I will get some slight wrap and accompany you. We shall, in all probability, find my daughter among the flowers.’

But she was not among the flowers. When we got outside the shrubs near the cottage, we could see the slight, black-robed figure sitting in the identical spot, and in the identical attitude I had first seen her. I observed Mrs. Thorne’s face grow paler as she looked toward the river and saw the girl seated, steadily gazing at the water, with her hands in her lap and her back supported by the tree.

‘That seems to be a favourite spot of Miss Thorne’s,’ I observed, as the mother’s eyes fell upon her. ‘I met her there as I came.’

‘Yes, she is there a great deal, and I do all I can. She is not to be weaned from it. I should take it as a great favour, Mr Sinclair, if you could influence her not to sit so by the water.’

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‘I don’t think the air of the river is healthy for Hester – she is far from strong – and I am sure that the monotonous sound of the ru

‘Perhaps it may be so. At all events it is very lonely for her. I suppose it will be different while Archie is here. Miss Thorne may perhaps allow her cousin to escort her about a little during his visit.’

At the name of her nephew, Mrs Thorne’s brows met in a deep black line over her nose, and her lips grew stern. She was looking at the gravel of the walk over which we were passing, but she lifted her sharp, black eyes just then, and bored a hole right through me, in a keen attempt to see what I was made of ere she said -

‘I want to speak to you about Archie, Mr Sinclair. Let us move toward the river – we can talk as we go.’

‘With pleasure,’ I returned, wondering all the time what kind of pumping I was going to get about Archie.

‘You are my nephew’s most intimate friend, Mr Sinclair?’

‘Well, I scarcely know, Mrs Thorne. We are very intimate certainly, but there is a considerable difference in our ages, and, as a necessary consequence, a great difference in our modes of living.’

‘I know – I know,’ she said impatiently. ‘I can understand all that – still you are friends?’

‘I hope and believe so, madam.’

‘And my nephew confides in you and tells you a good deal of his affairs, doubtless?’

‘Ye-es,’ I answered, with some hesitation, for, while I wanted to hear what she had to say, I was afraid of committing myself too far.

‘Can you tell me, without any breach of confidence, if Archie is entangled in any love affair in town? I have particular – most particular reasons for wishing to know.’

‘I can with certainty assure you that he has nothing of the kind on hand in town, Mrs Thorne,’ I assured her.

Her face brightened wonderfully, and something like a sigh of relief escaped between her thin, sharp lips.

‘I’m glad of that,’ she declared. ‘It is quite a relief to hear you say so. After all it is most unlikely that at his age he should be wound up in any engagement. He is only a boy.’

‘Oh, as to that, madam, boys even younger than Archie have managed to find their hearts and pledge them before now, and I could not undertake to say that he has not already done so. Indeed, I believe he has.’

‘Has what? Do you mean that my nephew is in love, or engaged, or some nonsense or other? I thought I understood you to assure me that he was quite free from any entanglement in town.’

‘So you did. I said that he had no engagement or love affair in town to my certain knowledge, but I could not make the same statement, truthfully, about the country.’

‘In the country? Where? Who? In the name of God tell me all about it?’

Wondering at the terrible fear in her tones, I turned slightly to look in her face. I think I have mentioned that Mrs Thorne was an older epitome of her daughter, small, slight, and pale in complexion, with eyes and hair like night. She wore a widow’s cap, too, the long, white bands of which streamed over the shoulders of her black dress down to the slender, prim waist with its neat belt. This cap was worn primly and suited the style of the woman’s features; but now, as I looked at her, the calm content of her face was gone and every feature was convulsed with a terrible fear.

‘Quick! If you don’t want to kill me, tell me with whom Archie Hopeton is in love.’

‘I am not sufficiently in his confidence to inform you precisely, Mrs Thorne, but I believe it is some young lady in this neighbourhood. What more likely than that his heart is in his cousin’s keeping?’

She looked at me sharply, as I insinuatingly completed my reply – perhaps she was shrewd enough to guess my insincerity. At all events she made no reply, and with a strong effort at controlling her feelings made some remark that shut off the subject.

By this time we had reached the river bank, where the gravelled walk turned at an acute angle and wound along by the water. As we turned that corner, I looked up the river toward the point where stood embowered in greenery, the pretty home of Bessie Elliot, the young girl I knew was my friend Archie’s beloved fiancée, and where I thought he most likely was at that instant. I saw nothing of him, however, and went on toward Miss Thorne, who still sat like an image, staring at the ru

‘Hester, dear, don’t sit here so near the river,’ Mrs Thorne said pleadingly. ‘You know it ca

‘Can you tell me anything that would be good for me?’ the girl asked sharply as she lifted her eyes to her mother’s face with such a fierce glare in them that she cowered under it. ‘You are always following me about bothering – I wish to goodness you’d let me alone.’

‘My dear, Mr Sinclair is here, hoping for a stroll with you,’ the woman said in a half terrified way that strangely puzzled me.

‘What do I care for Mr Sinclair?’ was the sharp retort, ‘and what does he care for me? Please go away, and leave me in peace!’

‘Are you not forgetting your cousin, Hester?’ Mrs Thorne said faintly. ‘He will be back soon and think it so strange to find you absent.’

Such a wild laugh darted from the girl’s lips that I absolutely started, and her mother turned a frightened look towards me.

‘No, I am not forgetting my cousin Archie, and he will not return as soon as you think. Are you going?’

The question was asked with a sudden lifting of her figure from its leaning position against the tree, and a clenching of the right hand that lay on her lap, and a fierce look from the black eyes that seemed to actually wither the miserable mother.

‘Yes, yes, dear, we’re going at once. How very fond of solitude my daughter is.’

I could not reply to this remarkable observation, for I was too completely astonished at the extraordinary conduct of Miss Thorne to make small talk for her mother. ‘That’s a pretty temper if you like!’ I thought to myself, ‘and how strange Archie never mentioned it to me. Why, her very mother is afraid of her life to cross the beauty.’