Volume Two—Chapter Sixteen.
Mystified by Martha.
The next day I had a long conversation with my mother—as to what we should do in the future.
It resulted in my proposing, that we should return immediately to Liverpool.
“No! no!” protested she, with an eagerness that astonished me; “I cannot think of that. I must wait for the return of my husband.”
“Your husband!”
“Yes! yes! Mr Leary. He has gone to California; but I have reason to believe that he will soon be back.”
“Now that you have spoken of him,” said I, “please to tell me all about him; and how he has used you since I left home.”
“He has always been very kind to me,” she answered, “very kind indeed. He has gone to the diggings in California, where I have no doubt but what he will do well, and come back with plenty of money.”
“But I was told in Dublin that he deserted you there,” said I. “Was that very kind indeed?”
“It is true; he did leave me there; but the business was doing badly, and he couldn’t help going. I have no doubt but what he was sorry for it afterwards.”
“Then you followed him here, and lived with him again?”
“Yes; and we were very happy.”
“But I have been told by Mr Davis—whom you know—that he again deserted you here, and ran away to California with another woman. Is that true?”
“He did go to California,” answered my foolish mother, “and I suppose that Miss Davis went with him; but I blame her more than him: for I’m sure she led him astray, or he would not have gone with her. However, I’ll not say much against her: for I hear she is dead now, poor thing!”
“Knowing that she has deserted you twice, what leads you to think that he will again return to you?”
“Because I know that he loves me! He was always so kind and affectionate. The woman, who led him astray, is no longer alive to misguide him; and I know he will comeback to me.”
“My poor deceived, trusting, foolish mother!”
I only muttered the words—she did not hear them.
“Besides,” continued she, “gold is now being found here in Australia. Many of the miners are coming home again. I’m sure he will be among them. It is true, he is a little wild for his years; but he will not always be so. He will return to his wife; and we shall be once more happy.”
“Mother! Am I to understand that you refuse to accompany me to England?”
“Rowland, my son,” said she, in a reproachful tone, “how can you ask me to go away from here, when I tell you that I am every day expecting my husband to return? Wait awhile, till he comes; and then we will all go together.”
Certainly to have said anything more to her on the subject would have been folly. It would be no use in trying to reason with her, after that proposal. The idea of my going aboard of a ship, on a long voyage, accompanied by Mr Leary—even supposing the man to have been in the land of the living—was too incongruous to be entertained and at the same time preserve tranquillity of spirit.
I was tempted to tell her, that Mr Leary had met the reward of his long career of crime—or, at least, a part of it—but, when I reflected on her extreme delusions concerning the man, I feared that such a communication might be dangerous to her mind.
From Martha I learnt what was indeed already known to me: that our mother had been all along willing and ready to sacrifice not only her own happiness, but that of her children, for the sake of this vile caitiff. My sister told me, that when they reached Liverpool, and found that Mr Leary had gone to Sydney, my mother determined to follow him immediately; and that William had been left behind in Liverpool, because she thought that coming without him she would be better received by the wretch whom she called her husband.
On reaching Sydney, they had found Mr Leary passing under the name of Mathews. He was at first disposed to have nothing to do with his Dublin wife; but having come to the knowledge that she was in possession of about fifteen pounds of the money received for her lease, he changed his mind; and lived with her, until he had spent every penny of it in drink and dissipation.
“Until he sailed for California,” said Martha, “he used to come every day, and stay awhile with mother—whenever he thought that he could obtain a shilling by doing so; and then we saw him no more. Ah, Rowland! I have had much suffering since we were together. Many days have I gone without eating a morsel—in order that money might be saved for Mr Leary. Oh! I hope we shall never see him again!”
“You never will see him again,” said I; “he is gone, where our poor mother will be troubled with him no more: he is dead.”
Martha was an impulsive creature; and in her excitement at hearing the news, exclaimed—
“Thank God for it! No! no!” she continued, as if repenting what she had said, “I don’t mean that; but if he is dead, it will be well for mother; he will never trouble her again.”
I made known to my sister all the particulars of Leary’s death. She agreed with me in the idea I had already entertained: that the intelligence could not with safety be communicated to our mother.
“I don’t believe,” said Martha, “that any woman in this world ever loved a man so much as mother does Mr Leary. I am sure, Rowland, it would kill her, to hear what you have just told me.”
“But we must bring her to know it in some way,” said I; “She must be told of his death: for I can see that she will not consent to leave Sydney, so long as she believes him to be alive. We cannot return to England, and leave her here; and it is evident she won’t go with us, while she thinks there is the slightest chance of his coming back. We must tell her that he is dead, and take chance of the consequences.”
My sister made no rejoinder to my proposal; and, while speaking, I fancied that my words, instead of being welcome, were having an unpleasant effect upon her!
Judging by the expression upon her features, I did not think it was fear for the result of any communication I might make to our mother, though what caused it, I could not guess.
Whenever I had spoken about returning to Europe, I observed that my sister did not appear at all gratified with my proposal, but the contrary!
I could not comprehend, why she should object to an arrangement, that was intended for the happiness of all. There was some mystery about her behaviour, that was soon to receive an elucidation—to me as unexpected, as it was painful.