Away With The Fairies (23 page)

Dot rummaged for a few minutes and produced an unusually large envelope, a very small one, one with an elaborate seal and one embossed with forget-me-nots. ‘And this one, I suppose,’ said Dot. ‘It’s the same size as the rest but it’s ripped at one corner.’

‘Good. Now, what have we here? This one is about dry hair. This one is about greasy hair. This is the one who had gynaecological problems. Scrub those. This is the one about the difficulty of growing primroses in an Australian climate that has “refer Agricola” on it. Keep that aside, Dot. And this is the one,’ said Phryne. “My child will not sleep and my husband doesn’t understand.” That’s been Mrs Opie’s burden all along. Small envelope with raised forget-me-nots all over it. We’ll need to match the handwriting and the stationery. There’s a draft of Mrs Opie’s floating around the office at this moment. All right. That’s enough for one day. We need a good dinner, Dot. What has Mrs Butler made?’

‘Cold steak and kidney pie, Miss, and I think there’s ice cream for dessert.’

‘Good,’ said Phryne. ‘We will enjoy that.’

Despite a lurking memory of horrors, she did. Dot, excited by her elevation to fellow sleuth, was chatty and the girls came back from their self-imposed exile in the kitchen, not bringing Molly the puppy (who was still unsafe on carpets). Ember floated in, curled his black length into a chair, and allowed Phryne to scratch behind his ears.

After dinner they played a game of cards. Jane, who had been taught the rules and technique of poker by Bert and Cec, won two boxes of matches, match by match. The only diverting aspect Phryne could see in playing with Jane was wondering how long it would take you to lose your undergarments.

The girls went to their room to do their homework.

The knock came not at the front door but at the parlour window. Tap, tap, a pause, then tap, tap, tap. Phryne turned off the light and opened the French window and Li Pen wafted through.

‘Good evening,’ said Phryne.

‘Silver Lady,’ said Li Pen, bowing.

‘Will you have tea?’

‘I will be missed if I am away too long,’ he said. ‘I came at your orders, Silver Lady.’

‘Are you familiar with the practice of phantoming a ship?’ she asked.

‘You think that this has happened to
Gold Mountain
?’

‘Yes. I hope that they might come back to Melbourne and try to sell the silk. They might even be bringing Lin Chung back. If Madame Lin can prevail on the family council to hand over the land, the pirates will need to have him on hand to exchange, and they can improve the shining hour by selling your silk to a rival.’

‘Your mind is, as always, of the finest calibre,’ said Li Pen.

‘I’ve found a man who sailed on
Gold Mountain
who thinks he can recognise it, no matter how they may have altered it. Bert and Cec and this man will be combing the waterfront for it. If—when they find it, I will call for you and we can take some action.’

‘You have not considered how illegal this action might be?’

Phryne stared straight into the dark, unfathomable eyes.

‘I don’t care,’ she said flatly, and Li Pen realised the essential truth in her statement. ‘If Lin is on that boat we will retrieve him or die trying, though of course I would prefer that someone else might die trying to stop us. Are you with me?’

‘To the death,’ said Li Pen softly. ‘Only thus may I retrieve my lost honour. There will be a stain even on my great grandchildren if I allow this piracy to succeed.’

‘Tell me about Lai Choi San. What did she want with Lin?’

‘I do not know. She is a small woman, much your own size. She wears very fine garments. She is ruthless and obeyed without question. Her punishments are feared. She rules her pirates with a rod of iron. The rape of a female prisoner, for instance, is punished by the castration of the whole crew of the offending junk. Female prisoners who cannot be ransomed for sufficient profit are sold as concubines or killed. She is very successful. When the first pirates released us on payment of the ransom, she had us seized on the shore and conveyed to her palace. There she ordered these marks to be set on me. There she kept my master.’

‘Isn’t this unusual behaviour for a pirate? Why would she want land?’

‘I do not know. I can only think that she wishes to retire, or that she is acting on behalf of someone else. She is rich enough to buy as much land as she wants in China, so I think it is reasonable to assume that she is acting on instructions, however unlikely that may seem.’

‘Who wants to kill Lin? And, moreover, who in the Lin family wants to kill me? They’ve been lining up lately.’

‘I know of no orders about you,’ said Li Pen, taken aback. ‘Madame Lin would not issue such orders, Silver Lady. She might not approve of your association with Lin Chung but she would not order an assassination.’

‘Sounds like an attempt at a take-over, doesn’t it?’ mused Phryne.

Li Pen raised an eyebrow. He was not familiar with the term.

‘I mean, it sounds like one company attempting to force another company to sell its assets at less than their market value. Who is mounting a take-over on the Lin family in China? Because they’ve suborned this pirate queen and they’ve been trying quite hard to kill me.’

‘I will think about this,’ said Li Pen. ‘If you need me, telephone this number and say to the person who answers “
Li Pen
gaumehng a
” and I will call you.’

Phryne took the piece of paper, repeated the phrase to his satisfaction, then wrote it down phonetically. He congratulated her on her mastery of Cantonese, apparently without irony, and vanished through the French window like a phantom.

Phryne sat in the dark, watching the moon. Lin Chung was not there.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The fourth line, divided, shows the subject
waiting in the place of blood. But he will get out
of the cavern.

Hexagram 5: Hsü
The I Ching Book of Changes

Morning brought a telephone call for Miss Fisher.

‘I wonder if you could look in at
Women’s Choice
this morning a little earlier than you intended?’ asked Mrs Charlesworth’s calm voice. ‘There has been a development.’

Phryne could hear someone sobbing in the background.

‘Miss Nelson has confessed?’ she asked.

‘Partially,’ said Mrs Charlesworth dryly.

‘And you think I can make that into “fully”?’

‘Oh yes, Miss Fisher, I have a very high opinion of your talents.’

‘Right with you,’ Phryne replied. She rang off. ‘Unleash the Hispano-Suiza, Mr B,’ she shouted. ‘Ten minutes?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ said Mr Butler from the kitchen. ‘Into the city?’

‘Yes,’ said Phryne, ‘and I’m in a hurry.’

‘Ten minutes,’ promised Mr Butler, taking his chauffeur’s hat and coat off their peg. ‘Going for a little drive, Mrs B,’ he called.

‘You mind the speed limit,’ said Mrs Butler.

‘I mind it,’ he replied. ‘It’s just that the boss doesn’t.’

‘Dot!’ Phryne called. ‘It occurs to me that you might like a little assistance. Mr B will take you on to “Desperate’s” house after he’s taken me to
Women’s Choice
, where Mrs Charlesworth says that we have a confession.’

‘Who’s confessed?’ Dot came down the stairs in a beige summer dress with a light jacket the shade of old terracotta bricks. Her resemblance to a cottage garden was increased by the bunch of geraniums on her hat.

‘Miss Nelson. But only to stealing letters, I bet. You do look nice, Dot. So summery. After you’ve finished with “Desperate”, get Mr B to bring you into the city. Madame Fleuri is remodelling the Worth so I have to stay for a little while. Mrs McAlpin is taking the photographs. Then we shall see what to do next. Ready? Then off we go.’

Mr Butler’s driving was effective and sedate. Phryne lit a gasper and stared out of the window. The case was breaking. She knew the feeling. The matter would be as obdurate as a big stone block for ages, utterly resisting all chipping and tapping, then just when you were about to give up and take to it with a sledgehammer, it cracked into a lot of pieces and fell away, revealing the gold egg of the solution in the middle.

Feeling that she had extended her metaphor beyond its coefficient of expansion, she blew idle smoke rings all the way to the city.

Dot reread the address, written in Jack’s policeman’s writing, which was square and easy to read under cross-examination. ‘Desperate’, otherwise known as Mrs Robert Green, Christian name Alexandra, had lived in Seddon, a respectable suburb between Footscray and Yarraville, on the other side of the river. She had died in a manner still under examination by the Coroner’s Court. She had left two children and a husband. Her maiden name was Hewland.

Hewland? An uncommon name. But the first rule of detection, Dot’s novels had told her, was not to leap to any conclusions. Of course, the detection methods of Miss Phryne Fisher consisted of leaping to any available conclusion and then following the fancy wherever it led. That seemed to work just as well. The rule appeared to be that as long as one was pursuing some line of enquiry, one would reach the end, in the end.

Phryne alighted and blew a kiss to Dot. Mr Butler inched the huge car down Hardware Lane and into Bourke Street, making an illegal right-hand turn and heading for Spencer Street, the Swamp Road, and Seddon.

Dot brooded.

Phryne ran up the steps to
Women’s Choice
and found a room full of women working very ostentatiously at their proper duties. They reminded her of a room full of schoolchildren warding off fate. A litany of grief was audible from Mrs Charlesworth’s office.

‘She said that you should go in right away,’ said Miss Grigg, wiring a magneto with precision. Miss Gallagher, beside her, was copying recipes and keeping her head down. Miss Prout was typing, Miss Phillips sketching an art deco pot, Mrs Opie feeding Wendy ice cream, Mrs McAlpin cleaning slides and Mr Bell brushing and sorting a box of bulbs.

‘What’s going on?’ whispered Miss Herbert. She had come in to work wearing higher heels and more make-up than usual, for her debut as a model, and found something which sounded like the Wailing Woman of Willow Glen, as described in the ghost story she had been reading.

‘I’ll let you know when I find out,’ said Phryne.

Mrs Charlesworth directed Miss Fisher to a chair and showed her Exhibit A: Miss Nelson’s letter book. Exhibit B: the empty envelope from ‘Desperate’ and Exhibit C: Miss Nelson, crying her eyes out, a pulpy lump of misery. The girl had a crumpled handkerchief in her fist and an inexhaustible supply of tears.

‘Tell Miss Fisher what you told me,’ said Mrs Charlesworth.

‘I took the exciting letters out of the pile and kept them,’ sobbed Miss Nelson.

‘Why?’ asked Phryne.

‘Because … they were interesting,’ said Miss Nelson.

‘And then what did you do with them?’

‘I put them in the dead letter binder to be thrown in the fire,’ said Miss Nelson.

‘Well, well, that’s true enough,’ said Phryne. ‘And you extracted “Desperate’s” letter and reglued the envelope. Why did you do that?’

Miss Nelson gaped, puffy-faced, and did not answer.

‘Who asked you to do that?’ prompted Phryne.

Miss Nelson shook her head.

‘You won’t tell? What has she got on you, girl? Blackmail’s a crime, Miss Nelson. You aren’t expected to keep silent if you’ve been pressured. What was it? A small theft? Took a pair of scissors home, did you? Or a boy? Or a phone call? Tell me,’ said Phryne compellingly.

‘I promised,’ Miss Nelson burst out. ‘I promised I wouldn’t tell, I gave my word.’

‘There’s a good girl,’ said Phryne gently, calling forth another burst of tears. ‘It’s all right. I understand. So does Mrs Charlesworth. We recognise the pure adolescent honour which drove Joan to the stake, inconvenient though it is at this juncture. Now you stay here. I won’t be a moment.’

Both Miss Nelson and Mrs Charlesworth nodded. Phryne went out and shut the door behind her.

‘Poor little creature,’ she said carelessly to the office at large, bending her head to light a gasper. ‘Plenty of backbone, but she broke at last.’

From a standing start Phryne then executed what the
Ballets
Russe
, would have recognised as a
grande jete
, arriving at the door to the stairs a microsecond before Miss Prout. Miss Grigg noticed with admiration that Miss Fisher’s cigarette was alight. She had the reflexes of a cat.

‘Urgent appointment, Miss Prout?’ she asked, waving the Sobranie in a hypnotic pattern inches from Miss Prout’s nose. ‘You will shortly have one at the Labour Exchange, I think. Come along. I know all—at least, most. Mrs Charlesworth, however, doesn’t. And your staunch accomplice didn’t betray you. She was willing to be sacked in disgrace to protect you, which is one of the most disgusting things you have done.’

‘You can’t keep me here!’ gasped Miss Prout.

‘Can’t I?’ Phryne grinned. Miss Prout took an involuntary step backwards. Phryne nudged her into a chair and perched on the desk beside her.

‘Fetch Mrs Charlesworth,’ she told Miss Gallagher, who obeyed instantly. ‘Now, Miss Prout, we are going to have an
éclaircissement
. I want to know all about this, and I am going to be put fully in the picture, or I shall arrange for you to spend a few nights in a cell, under suspicion of murder.’

‘Murder?’ Miss Prout paled to the colour of a Rosa Gallica.

‘Miss Lavender received death threats because of your interference,’ said Phryne. ‘I’m sure that Detective Inspector Robinson will see it my way. Miss Lavender being, as you know, very dead.’

Someone in the room was holding their breath. Phryne, facing Miss Prout, tried to triangulate. Who was under such tension that they weren’t breathing? Only the ears of a bat could detect them.

Mrs Charlesworth brought the sobbing Miss Nelson into the main office and planted her down in a chair. Miss Gallagher offered her another handkerchief. Wendy, with that curious empathy which children sometimes show, put a sticky hand on her skirt.

‘All right, Miss Prout. Your accomplice has stuck to her guns and refused to name you, but you gave yourself away. Do you hear, Miss Nelson? When Miss Prout speaks, you may speak. Now, Miss Prout, if you please, when did you suborn Miss Nelson into extracting the juicy letters for you?’