The day dawned far too bright and fair. Phryne yawned her way through dressing and gave herself an extra strong cup of Greek coffee, a cruel and unusual beverage which woke her up like nothing else could. Dot was awake, dressed, and characteristically cheerful. Dot liked dawn. Phryne only liked it from the other side. James was ambulant but silent.
Mr Butler drove them to St Joan of Arc’s in Brighton, and Dot in her coat and hat went to the door. Six-thirty exactly, and early Mass was beginning.
‘Mrs Butler said that you might like some more coffee, Miss Fisher,’ said Mr Butler, offering a thermos and a cup.
Phryne grabbed and gulped. James refused and Mr Butler had already had, he said, as much coffee as was good for him.
Phryne, who had never had as much coffee as was good for her, poured another cup and sipped luxuriously.
‘Your wife, Mr Butler, is a woman of great qualities and I hope that you are very happy with her,’ she said fervently.
‘Thank you, Miss Fisher, I am, and I shall convey to her your good opinion,’ replied Mr Butler. James stretched and yawned.
‘It’s a fair morning right enough,’ he commented. ‘But since I became a fiddler I’ve liked it less and less. I’ll just have a brief nap, Phryne, if you don’t mind.’
‘By all means, I’ll wake you if we need you.’
‘There,’ said Mr Butler. ‘That would be the young person, I believe, Miss Fisher.’
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Running as fast as the child on her hip would allow, a shabby girl with a too-large hat came galloping down the road.
She dived into the church as if bears were after her.
‘That was Biddy,’ said Phryne contentedly.
Bert and Cec arrived, and Phryne and James removed themselves to the cab.
Biddy liked early Mass. It was always calm and quiet in the church and the elderly priest had a nice Irish voice. The Triden-tine Latin flowed over her like a cool stream. Familiar, comforting.
She had a lot to worry about. Since Miss Rose had gone the house was fraught and since Ethel the kitchen maid had escaped it was both filthy and hungry. Biddy could not order from the tradesmen because the old man would not allow her any money and she could not cook with the child Elijah around her ankles all the time. If she left him, even for a moment, he shrieked with temper and broke something. But Mother had to work and Biddy really needed this job. Also, they owed her three months’ wages.
Father O’Brian approached her after he had said ‘
Ite, missa
est
.’ He had a lady with him, a woman with plaited hair, a beige suit, and a hat very like a terracotta flower pot. Father O’Brian said, ‘Here you are, Biddy. Biddy, this is Miss Williams. She has found you another job. You may take it. I’ve spoken to Miss Williams’ priest and he approves too. So go along with Miss Williams, Biddy, and I’m sure that you will continue to be a good girl. God bless you,’ he said, and went back into the church for breakfast.
Biddy bobbed her usual curtsey. Mary reached out towards the lady’s mother of pearl rosary and crooned ‘pretty beads!’
‘Hello, Bridget,’ said Miss Williams. ‘We must go back to your house and collect your things.’
‘Oh but, Miss, they’ll be angry.’ Biddy clasped little Mary closer. ‘That old man won’t let me leave!’
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‘He will,’ smiled Miss Williams. ‘Come along. Miss Fisher has sent the car for us.’
‘Ooh, a car!’ Biddy was fascinated. She had never travelled in a car before. She set Mary down on her feet and they looked at the shiny car, the reddest of all reds.
‘Come along,’ said Miss Williams, loading Mary and Biddy into the machine. ‘The Weston house, please, Mr Butler.’
‘Just as you say, Miss Williams,’ said Mr Butler, awe inspiring in his livery and peaked cap. Just like a sea captain, Biddy thought. And the car moved without a jolt or jerk. So fast! Much faster than walking. Much faster than a galloping horse. It was marvellous. Biddy began to feel hopeful. Surely such masterful people as this would not be frightened of that terrible old man and his terrible house.
Now Miss Williams was talking to her. No, no one had come to the house lately, except two nasty men. One was a natural who drooled. The other was a nasty man. Biddy could not specify any more than that. And Mr Johnson, who looked at her strangely. Biddy always took the children into the kitchen when Mr Johnson came.
They reached the Weston house far too soon. A cab was parked outside.
‘We’ll leave little Mary in the car,’ said Miss Williams.
‘There might be words.’
Little Mary was fascinated with the mother of pearl rosary which Miss Williams allowed her to hold. Biddy, gathering her courage, led the lady around to the kitchen door, to which she had the key. She had not been given it. She had found it in a box of rusted metal objects and had cleaned it. When tried, it fitted. No one in the house knew that Biddy went to morning Mass three times a week.
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Miss Williams left the kitchen door wide open. ‘Go up and pack your things,’ she said to Biddy. ‘I will wait here and talk to Mrs Weston. It will be all right, Biddy.’
Biddy went, taking the stairs at a fast, silent run.
Bert, Cec, James and Phryne filed in through the open door.
They were carrying such implements as might prove useful and they split up immediately. Phryne went down to the cellar.
She had a heavy duty flashlight for illumination and a crowbar.
Phryne liked crowbars. They made an admirable tool and anyone hit with one stayed hit. The cellar was filthy but empty except for two bottles of wine left in a spacious rack. She emerged and checked the coal cellar, in which were all of five shovelfuls of coal. Then she roamed the first floor, finding shut-up rooms full of moths and spiders, and once a fleeting rat, but no sign of human occupation.
That was her lot, and she rejoined Dot in the kitchen.
Bert, Cec and James took a section each and searched it.
The door with fifteen locks on it was the old man’s bedroom; James listened for long enough with his trained ear to be sure that there was only one set of lungs breathing in the room. Bert and Cec found wastes of dusty boards and flat walls where faded patches told that pictures had once hung, but nothing else. They were done and out in the garden before Biddy came down, dragging her box from step to step. The bumping noise woke Elijah and he started to scream, and his dog started to yap, which woke his mother and the old man.
All four of them arrived at the bottom of the stairs simultaneously. Dot was the only person in the kitchen. To Biddy’s relief, she came forward and removed Mr Weston’s clawed hand from the girl’s arm. The child Elijah continued to scream and the dog continued to bark.
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‘Bridget has a new job,’ Dot announced. ‘She is leaving.
Can she have her wages, please?’
‘Presently.’ The old man’s eyes lit up. ‘What has she got in that box? Some of our property? It must be searched.’
‘You aren’t actually allowed to do that,’ said Dot. ‘But we will allow it if you pay her properly. Come along,’ she coaxed.
‘You can’t say that she hasn’t earned it.’
‘She’s a wicked, ungrateful girl, after we gave her a good home. A Paddy straight out of the bogs, and probably a Catholic as well. She can come for her wages tomorrow, if she has the boldness to do it,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘Oh, do be quiet, ’Lije, do!’
‘She isn’t coming back here ever again,’ said Dot. ‘Wages.
Then you can search her box. If you insist.’
‘She can go to the devil,’ snarled Mr Weston. He had made a lightning calculation that whatever was in the box wasn’t worth three months’ wages.
‘Your own destination,’ said Dot, disgusted. ‘Come on, Biddy. You take one side of the box and I’ll take the other.’
Biddy did as she was told. She only turned back for a moment, when the child screamed, ‘Want Biddy!’ at the top of his voice.
‘Come along,’ said Dot, and Biddy obeyed.
Outside she was surprised to meet three men and a lady she had seen before at the big car.
‘Nothing,’ said one of the men. ‘And it would be a step forward in slum clearance to set a torch to the place, so it would.’
He almost sounded like an Irishman. He saw Biddy and smiled. Then he lifted the box without any effort and put it in the car.
‘Come along, birdie,’ he told her. ‘You’re well out of there.’
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In his big house in Yarraville, which seemed smaller every day, Detective Inspector Robinson heard the doorbell ring as he was attempting to spoon cereal into an uncooperative two year old—one of the great lost causes of the world. He waited, then realised that his sister was feeding the baby and his wife was walking the four year old in the garden. He left the toddler to scream in his highchair and went to the door.
‘Yes?’ he asked.
‘I’ve brought you a present,’ said Phryne. ‘Nice apron. Is the decoration cereal? This is Bridget and her little sister Mary.
I’m lending you Dot for the day to get them settled in and buy her some new clothes and things. I’m responsible for her wages.
She’s been running a big household almost single handed. You’ll find her very useful. Deal?’
Miss Fisher seemed to be in a hurry. Dot Williams had already had the child’s box brought in. Biddy herself had followed the noise into the kitchen. The noise stopped suddenly.
When Robinson got there he found that his screaming, kicking devil of a nephew was placidly eating cereal while the Irish girl told him that he was a fine boy, to be sure, and he didn’t surely want to be making such a rumpus on such a fine day. He could hear himself speak for the first time in hours.
‘Done,’ he said. ‘With thanks,’ he added.
He laid out some porridge in bowls for Biddy, who looked like she hadn’t had a square meal in all of her years, and her little sister. Mary was much better fed, probably because Biddy had given her food to Mary. He watched them eat for a while. One of the pleasures of the world is watching hungry children eat.
When he offered Biddy a cup of milk, she had asked gravely, ‘How far down am I allowed to drink?’ and Robinson, who was a kindly man, had had to turn away to hide his face.
Biddy was likely to be fed to bursting in Robinson’s house and
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even if there were ten times the children she would still be better off than in the Weston house.
Miss Anna Ross to Mr Rory McCrimmon
Rory, what is wrong? I have your cruel note dismissing me.
What have I done to forfeit your love? I swear I never knew any
man but you, never loved anyone but you. If you leave me I will
die. Anna
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cutpurses, cheaters, bawdy-house doorkeepers
Room for company at Bartholemew Fair
Punks, aye, and panderers, cashiered commanders,
Room for company, ill may they fare!
Anon
‘Bartholemew Fair’
Pleased with her good deed, and tickled by imagining what the Westons would do without poor, abused, starved and overworked Biddy, Phryne had herself driven home for a nap and something rather scented in the way of baths. James decided to wander off on a Simonds-and-Mongrel hunt with Bert and Cec, although it might just have been an excuse for a drink in a place with no excitable females in it. They seemed to have become friends, which was nice.
Phryne drew herself a bath and strewed milk powder into it. If it worked for Cleopatra, it ought to work for her. She drowsed in the warm water. How to understand misers? There were things in the house, antiques, according to Cec, that might have been fine if they had been cared for. Now they
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were worthless. The house itself was the last word in discomfort. There hadn’t even been a bath . . .
Phryne awoke with a start as she slid underwater. She leapt out, dried herself and dressed for a social occasion. Knowing what these bazaars were like, she chose a hat which clung closer than a brother, a handbag on a shoulder strap, and comfortable shoes. She collected Jane on the way out. Mr Butler was still chuckling at the cleverly contrived escape of Biddy.
He hadn’t liked leaving the poor child in that awful house. He should have known that his Miss Fisher would come through.
He listened to the conversation in the back seat. Nice, comfortable, everyday conversation.
‘Have you been to a bazaar before, Jane?’
‘No,’ said Jane. ‘Just church ones.’
‘This is the same, only bigger. If you get lost, head for the edge. They build a lot of stalls in the town hall, you see, and they get heavily decorated with paper flowers and things. Very confusing. Have you got your pocket money?’
‘Yes. I wish . . .’
‘That Ruth was here? So do I. But we know that she isn’t in that Weston house and we also know that she hasn’t . . . er
. . . been left in a bad position. Have some extra coins,’ said Phryne. ‘Buy Ruth something which she might have bought for herself. Parcels are to be put in the car. Mr Butler is staying with us, which is noble of him, eh, Mr B?’
‘After that trick this morning, Miss Fisher,’ said Mr Butler, beaming, ‘I’ll follow you anywhere.’
‘It was rather neat, eh? Two birds with one stone.’
‘What did you do with Biddy, Miss Phryne?’ asked Jane.
‘Gave her to Jack Robinson, whose sister has just been left by her husband with a broken heart and three children,’ said Phryne. ‘The sister moved into Jack’s house with the children
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