‘Constable Smith, Miss Fisher. I am astounded that you have come in with Sidney Brayshaw. Why, there’s his portrait on the wall,’ commented the young man, pointing out a ‘Most Wanted’ poster. He took it down.
‘He ain’t wanted anymore,’ he said. Phryne laughed. The constable did not think he had ever seen a face so drawn. The black hat and the black collar enclosed a countenance as white as marble.
‘Where are you staying, Miss? If you don’t mind my saying, you look all in.’
‘The Queenscliff Hotel. Can you drive my car there? And make me a present of that poster? It will make a perfect souvenir.’
Constable Smith, who had a sense of occasion, rolled up the poster and presented it with a bow. Then he vanished behind the desk, presumably to ask permission to leave and to summon the doctor to Sid.
Phryne was almost asleep on her feet when the constable came back. She gave him the keys, suffered herself to be helped into a seat beside him, and by the time Constable Smith had proudly steered the big red car around the corner she was fast asleep.
Thus Phryne made her most impressive entrance, though she missed it at the time; lolling gracefully with her head on a policeman’s shoulder. He stalked up the steps in correct uniform, helmet on and every button gleaming.
He stopped at reception and asked the manager, ‘Where shall I put her?’
The manager did not flick so much as an eyebrow. ‘Ah, yes, that is Miss Fisher. Room Six. Her maid has just gone out to purchase some necessaries. Follow me, Constable.’ Phryne was carried up the carpeted stairs and laid gently on the bed. Constable Smith took off Phryne’s boots and flung the quilt over her.
‘Thank you, Constable, I think that will be all,’ observed the manager. ‘I shall inform her maid that Miss Fisher has returned. I believe that a Mr Jack Leonard was expressing a wish to speak to you.’
The Queenscliff Hotel had been built in those spacious days when an empire was an empire, and the rooms were lavishly appointed. Constable Smith brushed past a bowl of winter leaves and berries which took up three square feet and saw the strangest assortment of people he had ever set eyes on, gathered around the largest fireplace he had ever seen. You could have roasted an ox in it, as he told his mates later. There was the chink of dishes in the back parlour as breakfast was laid.
The room contained numerous soft couches and two easy chairs. On one of the couches sat a man in flying gear, playing ‘scissors, paper, stone’ with a very grubby child in a stained white nightgown. Next to him sat a well-dressed and well-groomed young woman with fiery hair who kept patting the child, as if she was not sure that she was real. Between the child and the sofa back reclined a battered teddy bear with a handkerchief around its neck.
In one easy chair sat a plump young woman in leather gear, who had taken a cup of coffee into both hands as though to absorb the heat. She was staring into the fire. In the other easy chair sat the very dapper young man with a thin moustache, who stood up.
‘Hello, old chap. That was Miss Fisher I saw you carrying up the stairs just now, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ agreed the constable.
‘Is she all right?’
‘She fell asleep and I couldn’t wake her so I put her to bed. I don’t think there is anything wrong with her.’
‘Good. She told me that if she didn’t succeed in telling you the story I was to inform you that we’ll be down to the station after lunch to tell all. By the way, there’s a dead woman in a house up the hill,’ he gave the address. ‘Sidney killed her. I’m sure that he will explain.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the dumbfounded constable. ‘I’ll see about it right away, sir.’
He left the hotel to go and find his sergeant. What a young constable needs when given this sort of information is a sergeant. However, he had a strong suspicion as to what the sergeant would say.
He was right. He was immediately sent to see if there was a dead woman in the house. There was.
Dot had found that the lady who kept the draper’s shop lived over her premises, and Dot knocked until a sleepy voice replied that she was coming. At last the door opened.
‘Well?’ asked Mrs Draper.
‘I need a lot of things for three ladies who are benighted in the area,’ said Dot. Mrs Draper opened the shop door and switched on the light.
‘You look for what you want, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘I’ll just go and make me tea.’
She tottered off. Dot selected a light travelling bag and found a nightgown and a pair of soft, black velvet slippers. Phryne’s trousers were all very well but one could not dine in them. Dot took a black skirt in a size W for Bunji and in SSW for Phryne; bought a loose white blouse with dolman sleeves and a bright red jersey top, three gentlemen’s shirts and socks and undergarments, and three sets of stockings and undies for the ladies. Then she remembered herself and added one more of each. At the back of the shop she spied a quaint beaded cap with a long scarf hanging from it. She bought a feather cockade for the black cloche, and remembered Bunji’s flying boots at the last moment and bought her a pair of slippers, too. She wrestled this mountain of purchases onto the counter and went in search of the draper.
Placidly, the old woman added up the astronomical total, checked it, and gave Dot change. She agreed that the things would be sent instantly to the Queenscliff Hotel and saw her customer to the door, which she locked behind her. Then she chose a comfortable bit of floor and fainted.
Dot hurried back to the hotel. She had the nightgown and slippers in the light bag, and the thought of a cup of tea spurred her on. An aeroplane was attracting a crowd down on the foreshore, and a stern lifeboat man was warning the children away.
Dot ran up the steps and was just in time for breakfast.
‘Oh, I say, pity that Phryne is missing this,’ opined Jack Leonard. Dot thought so, too. She went up to room six and opened the door. Phryne was half-awake.
‘What’s that delicious smell, Dot? I’ve had the most amazing dream. I was clinging on to the back of a car. . hang on. That wasn’t a dream. Dot, where are we?’
‘Queenscliff Hotel, Miss, and breakfast is waiting. Why not wash your face and brush your hair and come down? I’ve never seen a breakfast like it.’
The Queenscliff Hotel was famed for its breakfasts. Phryne put on the black slippers and brushed her hair as ordered. She and Dot descended into a cloud of steam savoury enough to make a glutton swoon. Phryne’s stomach growled reproachfully. Dot felt almost faint with hunger. They passed the formal dining-room and the cocktail bar and burst into the back parlour at something not too short of a run. Jack Leonard gave a cheer as Phryne came in and supplied her with a big plate.
‘Now, Phryne, you must keep up your strength. There won’t always be policemen to carry you around.’
‘So I didn’t dream the policeman either. How odd.’
‘What would you like?’ asked Jack, leading her to a long row of silver chafing dishes. ‘There are kidneys and devilled ham in this one, scrambled eggs in this one, mushrooms in this one, sausages, rissoles, fried eggs, and they can make you an omelette in a moment.’
‘This is too much. Get me a bit of everything, Jack, and bless you.’
Phryne sat down at a small table. A waiter took her order for tea and offered her a newspaper, which she waved away. When furnishing the hotel someone had bought a job lot of life-size negro figures made of wood or papier-mâché. At the feet of the one with the gold turban sat Candida, eating fruit compote with perfect equanimity. Phryne raised an eyebrow at Molly.
‘She says that the poor man must be lonely, so she’s gone to keep him company,’ Molly explained. ‘Have some of this compote, it’s marvellous. Essence of summer. I wonder where they found melons, pineapple and strawberries at this time of the year?’
Jack placed Phryne’s plate before her, and she had demolished it, with three slices of toast and two cups of tea, before he had time to complete one across in the Times crossword. Phryne went back to th
e buffet and gave herself more bacon, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and kedgeree. This she ate with two slices of toast. Dot had found the diversity of things to eat miraculous. All that food! She picked at everything.
Phryne tried the fruit and found it delightful, then stood up and stretched.
‘I bags first bath,’ she said, and Dot raced after her as she fled up the stairs.
Ten minutes later she was lying in a hot bath and Dot was soaping her feet. She was so stiff that she could not possibly have reached them.
‘Oh, your poor toes, Miss!’
‘I suppose it isn’t any use asking you to call me Phryne, is it, Dot?’
‘No. It ain’t right. And you are changing the subject. You’ve bruised them toes so that you won’t be able to put a shoe on your feet for a week. You’ve cut your hands and there’s a little cut on your brow. It won’t cause a scar, Miss,’ commented Dot. ‘Let me have your foot again. I’ve sent your clothes to be cleaned, and they say they’ll be back this afternoon. Miss Candida’s as well. Mrs Maldon wants to get rid of that nightgown. I didn’t think of buying a new one for her. That’s better, Miss. Hang on to my hand and. . up we go!’
Dot dried Phryne, clad her in the nightgown, and put her to bed between clean sheets.
Dot took a bath, replaced her chemise, and lay down in her own bed for some sleep. She was rather worn out from worrying about Phryne and Candida and Henry and Bunji.
The Maldons had been given a room with a bath, and the hotel had provided a cot draped with white muslin. Candida was impressed with it. It resembled the cradle of the Princess’s baby in the Blue Fairy Book. She was a cleanly little girl and was delighted to see how much dirt coloured the water. When she was finally ready and wrapped up in several towels, her father claimed the bath and firmly shut the door.
Candida surveyed the room. It was lovely. She admired the gold chandelier, and the swags of ivy picked out in gold leaf on the high ceilings. The French windows opened onto the balcony and through them she could see the sea. The heavy curtains of oyster-grey silk had been elaborately draped in order to frame the view. In front of the window was a carved blackwood love seat, a round low table with a bowl of roses and three delicate-legged chairs. There was an escritoire and matching chair on one side of the fire and a washstand on the other.
The great bed was of brass and stood at least two feet off the floor. It was heaped with pillows. Candida climbed up and bounced experimentally.
Molly darkened the windows and took off most of her clothes. She got into the bed and found that Bear and Candida were already there.
‘Bear wants to know when we are going home.’
‘Tomorrow morning. We are just going to have a little sleep. Daddy will be here in a moment. Do you want to sleep in the cot?’
‘Me?’ asked Candida indignantly. ‘It’s for a baby.’
Molly smiled and closed her eyes. When Henry came out of the bathroom, he found both of his women fast asleep.
Phryne woke refreshed and stiff at two o’clock. Dot was still sleeping. The blind let through a little cool winter light, and she could hear the sea. She inspected the clothes that Dot had bought, especially the odd little hat. She put it on and peeped into the mirror. It was striking. The beads added weight, so that it sat down well upon her head. She looped the scarf around her throat.
‘O woman of mystery,’ she said blowing a kiss to her reflection. She put on the black skirt and the red jersey top, then went downstairs to see if any of the rest of her party were awake.
The desk clerk smiled at her. ‘The rest of them have gone for a walk on the shore, Miss Fisher,’ he said respectfully. ‘The little girl insisted.’
Phryne smiled. Candida was prone to insist. She gathered up her skirt and went down the steps and across the road, following the path to the pier.
It was a cold day, and few people were on the foreshore. Phryne found Candida, her parents, Bunji and Jack sitting on the sand and making rather ineffectual castles.
‘That’s not right,’ said Candida as her castle dissolved before a strong lee wind. ‘Make me an aeroplane, Uncle Jack.’
Jack Leonard moved down the beach a little and found that the damper sand held its shape better. Bunji came with him to advise.
‘Make a Fokker,’ she suggested. ‘Did you see her, Phryne? I had to put her down on the sand. Had a bit of a struggle persuading the old girl to stop, seemed to want to go on into the waves, and that wouldn’t have done, you know. The lifeguard was delighted to watch it for me. He was in the Royal Flying Corps. Fascinating old bird. I think the nose ought to be a bit longer, Jack.’
Jack obediently lengthened the nose. Candida found suitable pebbles for the finer details.
Molly and Henry were sitting on a cold stone step. Molly was leaning back into Henry’s embrace. He had his head on her shoulder. Phryne was about to withdraw when Molly held out a hand.
‘We owe it all to you, Phryne. We don’t know how to repay you.’
‘There’s no need to repay me. I wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. The really brave person in this was Bunji. Henry must have told you what a good flyer she is.’
‘Great skill,’ agreed Henry. ‘She can scent the air currents, I reckon. Who is this Mike that Candida keeps talking about?’
‘Did you read the Sherlock Holmes stories?’ asked Phryne, seating herself at Henry’s feet.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘“I think we must have an amnesty in that direction”,’ quoted Phryne. ‘He was dragged into the plot by his revolting wife. The monster I delivered to the cops this morning was the prime mover. When Sidney shot the wife and was trying to shoot Candida, Mike realised that he couldn’t go along with it, shoved Candida out into the garden and told her to run. Then he attacked Sid. That’s where I came in. I shot Sid in the wrist and had a conference with Mike. He saved Candida’s life. Even if we all gave character evidence for him he’d be looking at ten years in the pen. So I gave him a hundred quid and told him to go home and report his car stolen. They will suspect him, but they won’t be able to prove anything. He is a good chap, Henry met him.’
‘So it was Mike who kissed Candida goodbye? I’m glad that I met him. I owe him a great deal.’
‘I told him to get in touch with me if he couldn’t get a job. If he does, I’ll turn him over to you.’
‘You did well, Phryne. It would have been awful to have to give evidence against him.’
Molly’s eyes strayed to Candida, engaged in making wheels for the plane. The child was dressed in her blue frock, and had Bear secured to her back with a handkerchief.
‘I don’t think she’s suffered too much,’ said Phryne, ‘though she’ll probably have nightmares. She didn’t see the woman fall when she was shot and she escaped Sidney’s attentions.’
‘I was wondering about that. He’s a child-molester, isn’t he?’ asked Henry. ‘I. . didn’t know how to ask her.’
‘No need. He may have had designs on her originally, but when she came out from under the ether Sid told me that she was sick all over him.’
Henry laughed aloud. ‘That’s my girl!’
Dinner in the formal dining-room was hilarious. Phryne purchased good champagne and after a while everyone was happy. The food was excellent, from the entrée of cream of pumpkin soup, through an exquisite cheese soufflé, a filet mignon à chasseur, and sherberts made of peach, nectarine, pomegranate, lemon, orange and grapefruit. The coffee was fragrant and the handmade chocolates remarkable.
Phryne, who had bagged the quaint hat, ate as though she had been fasting for some months. Dot was freshly surprised at each course. Candida, who had been allowed to stay up by special permission, had presided over the ceremonial burning of the nightgown, the last trace of her captivity. She was engaged in assisting Bear to eat his chocolates. Golden candlelight from the tall sconces glittered off the massive silver epergnes and dishes; the log fire burned brightly. Tall vases of lilies and gum tips lent the air a delicate sc
ent. Of all endings to adventure, this was the best possible.
‘To Candida!’ cried Phryne, and raised her glass. Uncle Jack allowed the child to take a sip from his glass. The bubbles tickled her nose. She chuckled. She knew that it was the custom to respond to a toast. She clutched Bear close to give him confidence, and stood up on her chair.
‘Uncle Jack, Aunty Bunji, Mummy, Daddy, Dot and Phryne,’ she began. The table was silent. Candida was overcome with sudden affection.
‘Thank you for finding me and bringing me Bear,’ she said, then launched herself into Phryne’s arms, and kissed her moistly on the cheek.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He that dies pays all debts
Shakespeare The Tempest
Returned in good order to Melbourne, Phryne spent Thursday afternoon cleaning the car with Mr Butler’s assistance. She gave her household an edited account of her adventures, and did not go out until Thursday afternoon to Fitzroy. She wanted to find Klara. As Klara was locally notorious, this did not prove difficult.
A thin little gutter sparrow sat in a café, staring into an empty cup of tea. She looked up as Phryne walked in and smiled with genuine tenderness.
‘Phryne! Come and buy me some tea. I’m parched. Got a job for me?’
Phryne bought the tea, which she would not have touched for quids, and explained. Ancient eyes started out of a childish face.
‘And they’ll kill him the next day?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll do it for ten quid. If I didn’t have to make a living I’d do it for nothing. Sidney Brayshaw, eh? Bonzer. Will you make the arrangements?’
‘Can you? I don’t know if Briggs is still at Pentridge.’
‘Sure. Give me another twenty to square them.’
Phryne produced the money. ‘You won’t fail me, Klara? I gave my word.’
‘No. I’ll not fail,’ promised Klara, tracing a cross with a grubby forefinger on the flat breast of her gym tunic. Phryne left quickly. She found Klara unsettling.
Thursday night was appointed for Phryne’s seduction of the delightful Dr Fielding. It was not until Mrs Butler was asking her what she fancied for dinner that she remembered.
Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher Page 32