Mrs. Carver mounted the steps to the witness box almost briskly; but when she saw Emery Staines, seated on the stand behind the rail, she appeared momentarily to falter. Her hesitation was very brief: in the next moment she collected herself. She turned her back on Staines, smiled at the bailiff, and raised her milky hand to be sworn in.

‘Mrs. Carver,’ said Broham, after the bailiff had stepped back from the stand. ‘Are you acquainted with the defendant, Mr. Emery Staines?’

‘I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a Mr. Emery Staines,’ said Mrs. Carver.

Moody, glancing at the boy, was surprised to see that he was blushing.

‘I understand that on the night of the eighteenth of February you staged a séance in order to make contact with him, however,’ Broham said.

‘That is correct.’

‘Why did you choose Mr. Staines, of all people, as the object of your séance?’

‘The truth is rather mercenary, I’m afraid,’ said Mrs. Carver, smiling slightly. ‘At that time his disappearance was the talk of the town, and I thought that his name might help to draw a crowd. That was all.’

‘Did you know, when you advertised this séance, that the fortune discovered in your late husband’s cottage had originated upon the goldmine Aurora?’

‘No, I did not,’ said Mrs. Carver.

‘Did you have any reason to connect Mr. Staines with your late husband?’

‘No reason at all. He was just a name to me: all I knew about him was that he had vanished from the gorge, and that he had left a great many assets behind him.’

‘Did you not know that your husband Mr. Carver owned shares in Mr. Staines’s goldmine?’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I don’t talk investment with Francis.’

‘When did you first learn of the bonanza’s true origin?’

‘When the Reserve Bank published the notice in the paper in late March, asserting that the gold had in fact been found smelted, and was therefore traceable.’

Broham turned to the justice. ‘The Court will note that this announcement appeared in the West Coast Times on the twenty-third day of March this year.’

‘Duly noted, Mr. Broham.’

Broham turned back to Mrs. Carver. ‘You first arrived in Hokitika on Thursday the twenty-fifth of January, 1866, upon the steamer Waikato,’ he said. ‘Immediately upon landing, you made an appointment at the Courthouse to contest the sale of your late husband’s cottage and land. Is that correct?’

‘That is correct.’

‘How had you learned of Mr. Wells’s death?’

‘Mr. Carver had conveyed the news to me in person,’ said Mrs. Carver. ‘Naturally I made for Hokitika as swiftly as I was able. I would have liked to have attended the funeral; unfortunately I was too late.’

‘At the time you left Dunedin, did you know that the bulk of Mr. Wells’s estate comprised a fortune of unknown origin?’

‘No: it was not until I arrived in Hokitika that I read the account given in the West Coast Times.’

‘I understand that you sold your house and business in Dunedin prior to your departure, however.’

‘Yes, I did,’ said Mrs. Carver, ‘but it was not as radical a move as you might suppose. I am in the entertainment business, and the crowds at Dunedin are not what they once were. I had been considering a move to the West Coast for many months, and reading the West Coast Times with keen attention, with that future purpose in mind. When I read of Crosbie’s death, it seemed the perfect opportunity. I could start anew in a place where business was sure to be good—and I could also be close to his grave, which I very much desired. As I have said, we did not have a chance to resolve our differences before his death, and our separation had cut me very keenly.’

‘You and Mr. Wells were living apart at the time of his death, were you not?’

‘We were.’

‘How long had you been living apart?’

‘Some nine months, I believe.’

‘What was the reason for your estrangement?’

‘Mr. Wells had violated my trust,’ said Mrs. Carver.

She did not go on, so Broham, with a nervous glance at the justice, said, ‘Can you elaborate on that, please?’

Mrs. Carver tossed her head. ‘There was a young woman in my charge,’ she said, ‘whom Mr. Wells had used abominably. Crosbie and I had a dreadful row over her, and shortly after our disagreement, he quit Dunedin. I did not know where he went, and I did not hear from him. It was only when I read his obituary in the West Coast Times that I found out where he had gone.’

‘The young woman in question …’

‘Miss Anna Wetherell,’ said Mrs. Carver, crisply. ‘I had done her a charity, by taking her in, for which she was, as she asserted, very grateful. Mr. Wells tarnished that charity; Miss Wetherell abused it.’

‘Did the acquaintance between Miss Wetherell and Mr. Wells continue, after their joint relocation to Hokitika?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said Mrs. Carver.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Carver. I have no further questions.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Broham,’ she said, serenely.

Moody was already pushing his chair back, waiting for the invitation from the justice to rise. ‘Mrs. Carver,’ he said promptly, when the invitation came. ‘In the month of March, 1864, your late husband Crosbie Wells made a strike in the Dunstan Valley, is that correct?’

Mrs. Carver was visibly surprised by this question, but she paused only briefly before saying, ‘Yes, that is correct.’

‘But Mr. Wells did not report this bonanza to the bank, is that also correct?’

‘Also correct,’ said Mrs. Carver.

‘Instead, he employed a private escort to transport the ore from Dunstan back to Dunedin—where you, his wife, received it.’

A flicker of alarm showed in Mrs. Carver’s expression. ‘Yes,’ she said, cautiously.

‘Can you describe how the ore was packed and then transported from the field?’

She hesitated, but Moody’s line of questioning had evidently caught her off guard, and she had not time enough to form an alibi.

‘It was packed into an office safe,’ she said at last. ‘The safe was loaded into a carriage, and the carriage was escorted back to Dunedin by a team of men—armed, of course. In Dunedin I collected the safe, paid the bearers, and wrote at once to Mr. Wells to let him know that the safe had arrived safely, at which point he sent on the key.’

‘Was the gold escort appointed by you, or by Mr. Wells?’

‘Mr. Wells made the appointment,’ said Mrs. Carver. ‘They were very good. They never gave us an ounce of trouble. It was a private business. Gracewood and Sons, or something to that effect.’

‘Gracewood and Spears,’ Moody corrected. ‘The enterprise has since relocated to Kaniere.’

‘Indeed,’ said Mrs. Carver.

‘What did you do with the bonanza, once it was delivered safely to you?’

‘The ore remained inside the safe. I installed the safe at our residence on Cumberland-street, and there it stayed.’

‘Why did you not take the metal to a bank?’

‘The price of gold was fluctuating daily, and the market for gold was very unpredictable,’ said Mrs. Carver. ‘We thought it best to wait until it was a good time to sell.’

‘By your degree of caution, I would hazard to guess the value of the bonanza was considerable.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Several thousand, we thought. We never had it valued.’

‘Following the strike, did Mr. Wells remain upon the field?’

‘Yes, he continued to prospect for another year: until the following spring. He was buoyed by his success, and felt that he might get lucky a second time; but he did not.’

‘Where is the bonanza now?’ Moody asked.

She hesistated again, and then said, ‘It was stolen.’

‘My condolences,’ said Moody. ‘You must have been devastated by the loss.’

‘We were,’ said Mrs. Carver.

‘You speak on behalf of yourself and Mr. Wells, presumably.’

‘Of course.’