Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

by Kerry Greenwood

  Molly nodded. She had been very proud of that wallpaper. It seemed like such a long time ago now that she had moved into this house in which she had hoped to be very happy. Phryne interpreted the look.

  ‘You’ll be happy here again if you can regain your sense of proportion,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘When I see Candida tonight I’ll need some token that I am trustworthy. What would convince her?’

  ‘Bear,’ said Molly with conviction. ‘She will be leading those kidnappers a hell of a dance because she hasn’t got him. Come this way,’ she said, and led Phryne upstairs to the nurseries. Baby Alexander had been sent on a visit to his doting grandmother. His room, decorated with bunnies all round the walls, was empty, but had a feeling of recent occupation. Candida’s room was hollow. It was clear that the child who had slept in this little blue bed and worn these pyjamas and played with these toys was missing, not just gone for the day. Molly controlled herself with a great effort and snatched Bear off the bed.

  Phryne retreated from the room and shut the door. There was a limit to what a stepmother could stand. She held up Bear and looked at him. He had been a proper golden plush Pooh-bear at one stage in his life, but he had been extravagently loved for some years since then, and he was a little battered. One of his ears had been carefully re-stitched, and his joints were loose. His squeaker no longer worked and the repairs to his face after some childish accident had given him a lopsided grin. He was a bear of great, if raffish, charm, and Phryne could understand why Candida relied on his company and counsel. This might be a bear of very little brain, but even his furry body had been moulded, by the hugs of years, to fit Candida’s embrace. Phryne gave Bear a brief squeeze and tucked him under her arm.

  ‘To your boxes, woman,’ she ordered Molly. ‘Bear will be safe with me.’

  She marched back into the parlour, where Henry had started pacing again.

  ‘Dot, can you go and help Mrs Maldon? She’s upstairs, unpacking. Talk to her about her new house, baby Alexander, and anything else that occurs to you. Don’t go into Candida’s room if you can help it.’

  Dot obeyed. From the kitchen came the appetising scent of an omelette cooking, and bread toasting. Henry took Bear out of Phryne’s arms and hugged him. Phryne glanced at his face and went out. She decided that Bear should be left alone to work his magic.

  She dialled her own house. Mrs Butler answered the phone.

  ‘Mr Butler has got the paint you ordered, Miss, and says that what you need to deliver it is the bladder from a football. He’s just gone out to buy one.’

  ‘Good. He is a jewel among men and I hope that you are very happy with him.’

  ‘And your two cabbies are here with a load of papers which they say you asked them to buy.’

  ‘Good again. Tell them to wait until Mr B. comes back and to bring the doings over to the Maldons’. Did they say if they found the rope?’

  ‘Mr Bert is here, Miss, I’ll put him on.’

  Bert, who was unused to telephones, roared in Phryne’s ear. ‘Bert here, Miss. We got the rope.’

  ‘Good, but keep your voice down. Was it where I said it would be?’

  ‘Yair. Cec found it, and a pile of pitchers. We reckon they are kerbstones. We’ll go out looking for the street repairs later. The rope had blood on it all right. Reckon it was used to tie someone up. The stains are all spaced out, like. And there were all these little things under the stones.’

  ‘What sort of little things?’

  ‘Lollies, and toys, and gum cards, and lead soldiers. Someone had painted over their uniforms and given them white skirts.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Phryne with deep satisfaction. ‘Had they. Have I told you lately how invaluable you are, Bert?’

  ‘Not lately,’ said Bert, ‘But I’ll pass your recommendation on to Cec. Now about the old bloke and the girl — no wonder the poor sheila was chasing him up the path. He’d pinched her clothes. This smarmy cop thought it was real funny. Cost me ten squid to square him. Is that all right?’

  ‘Cheap at the price,’ said Phryne. ‘Come over here with the paint and the footy, as soon as you can. The game’s afoot, Bert, and I’m hoping to have Candida back before tomorrow night. After that we shall see. You keep looking for the local top cocky, and the street repairs, and I’ll see you soon. Bye.’

  Phryne could hear Bert ask, ‘What do I do with this thing now?’ as she rang off.

  Bert and Cec arrived an hour later in their new taxi. Omelettes and jam roll had been consumed, the household having run out of coconut, and Molly Maldon was so absorbed in telling Dot all about what a bargain her new carpet had been that she did not flinch when the doorbell rang. The two cabbies came in with the bladder and the paint, and an armload of illustrated papers. Phryne waved her scissors at them.

  ‘Come in! I’m just cutting up five thousand pounds worth of valuable newspaper. Put them down there on the sofa,’ she directed, and Bert laid down his burden. ‘This is Henry Maldon, the flyer. Tell me about the funny cop.’

  ‘Pleased to meetcher,’ growled Bert, who did not approve of capitalists. He took a tense hand and shook it. Henry Maldon looked much better than he had two hours ago, but there was enough residual agony in his face to make Bert revise his opinion. ‘He couldn’t help winning the money,’ he told Cec later. ‘And the poor coot looked like he’d been strained through a sieve backwards. Sitting there clutching that teddy bear. Must’a belonged to the kid.’

  Bert abated his gruffness instantly and strove to amuse. He made a good story out of the cop, and coaxed a smile out of the distracted flyer. Phryne bound her newspaper bundles with a real note on the top and bottom, and placed a bundle of real fivers on the top. The notes were packed into a cloth bag. There was a strained silence.

  ‘Come down to the pub, mate,’ offered Bert to his own astonishment. ‘Man needs a beer. Still an hour before time.’

  The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece said five. Phryne refrained from hugging Bert and observed, ‘We can’t do anything until it’s dark. You go with Bert and Cec. I’ll come and get you if something happens. Which pub are you going to?’

  ‘The Railway,’ said Henry, and the two cabbies took him away. This was a relief to Phryne, who had not been able to find Henry an occupation. There was still a couple of hours to go before there was any point in setting out for Geelong.

  Phryne heard the voice of the cook raised in comfortable converse with the butter-cream-and-egg man, who was late.

  ‘What are you coming here at this time of night for?’ she demanded, and Phryne heard the reply from the backyard.

  ‘Couldn’t go any faster, Missus, not even to woo me old sweetheart. The bleedin’ council have dug up the bleedin’ road and I had to wheel me trike all the way from the shop. My boss is creatin’. So don’t you start on me, there’s a love.’

  ‘Language,’ cautioned the cook. ‘And don’t come smoogin’ up to me. Them eggs you brought yesterday was mostly rotten.’

  ‘What? My eggs?’ exclaimed the delivery boy, as outraged as if he had laid them personally. ‘My eggs, rotten? You show me a rotten egg I’ve delivered. You must have got ’em mixed up with them tichy little ones from your own chooks.’

  ‘The chooks ain’t laying,’ returned the cook, ‘or I wouldn’t have to buy your rotten ones.’

  ‘Give a man a break,’ complained the boy, who sounded about fifteen. ‘The boss says, “Take them eggs”, so I take ’em. I ain’t got no choice. How many of ’em were off, anyway?’

  ‘Three out of the dozen, and I had to throw away a whole cake batter with a pound of butter in it. I wouldn’t have offered it to a pig. I ought to get onto your boss, however,’ admitted the cook handsomely. ‘I suppose that it ain’t your fault. Give me a dozen more, and two pounds of butter, no cream today.’

  There was a thud as the parcel was placed on the kitchen table. ‘See you temorrer, my old darling,’ cried the boy, and took off quickly, in time to avoid a slap.

  ‘Not so much o
f the “old”,’ snarled the cook, and slammed the kitchen door, much invigorated.

  Phryne took up the illustrated papers and leafed through them. A characteristic passage met her eye.

  ‘The recent discoveries at Luxor have sent the whole Empire mad about Egypt,’ it said smugly. ‘Lord Avon, who has been largely responsible for financing the expedition, said that the public interest was most gratifying. “There is a whole civilisation under the sand here,” he said to our special correspondent. “And one of very high standards. The decorative patterns, the linen, the beading and the magnificent tomb painting of the Pharoah are unforgettable and as fresh as the day they were painted. I expect to find many more tombs in this area. It seems to have been a flourishing city. I also hope to find the chamber which I am convinced lies under the great Pyramid, the resting place of Cheops himself. Further interesting discoveries are expected daily.”’

  She laid the magazines open at the pictures of the objects discovered in the rock chambers. A dagger inlaid with hunting cats. A diadem for a queen, with lotus flowers in lapis lazuli. A bracelet for an archer inlaid with the Eye of Horus to safeguard his aim. Tomb paintings of the Pharoah hunting lions, and mixing wine, and embracing his wife. Small figurines of gods and slaves and workmen: little women kneading dough, herding cattle, shearing sheep and reaping wheat. They were enchanting. Phryne stared longest at the gold statue of the Goddess Pasht, a graceful cat with an earring in one of her upstanding ears and kittens at her delicate feet.

  That is beautiful beyond belief, thought Phryne. I wonder if I could steal it?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Night makes no difference ’twixt Priest and Clerk Joan as my Lady’s as good i’ the dark

  Herrick No Difference in the Dark

  At last it was getting dark. Phryne packed Dot, Molly, Jack Leonard and herself into the Hispano-Suiza. She checked that she had all the impedimenta that had been improvised and collected during the day. Though she and her hosts had eaten an early dinner they added a picnic basket to the load, as well as brandy flask and, of course, Bear.

  ‘It’s not all that far to Geelong, but I don’t want to hurry,’ she said as Jack Leonard swung the starting handle. ‘Are we clear as to what we are going to do?’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘Right,’ said Phryne taking a deep breath. ‘Off we go, then.’

  She located the Geelong Road without difficulty and soon they were bowling along in the darkness. There would be a moon but it had not yet risen. It was clear and frosty, and the stars were very bright. Phryne hoped that she wouldn’t freeze to death on the escapade which she had in mind. She had already fought a fierce action with Jack Leonard, once he heard what she intended to do.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Jack. Look at the size of you. I’m five feet three and I weigh eight stone with all these clothes and goods. How much do you weigh?’

  ‘Twelve stone. I suppose that you are right. But what if you fall off?’

  ‘Then you shall pick me up,’ said Phryne, and the conversation was at an end.

  Dot was talking to Molly Maldon to distract herself from how cold she was, how worried about Phryne, and how fast the car was going. Molly was keyed-up. After what seemed like years of hanging about and worrying, there was now a chance of some action and she was all for it. The afternoon among her possessions had soothed her spirit and she had great faith in Phryne. She was beginning to believe that she would recover Candida. She had the bag of lollies in the picnic basket, though she had an instinctive and superstitious dread of picturing how glad Candida would be to see them, and paid as much attention as she could to Dot’s account of one of Phryne’s previous cases.

  ‘And this abortionist was her capture, was he?’

  ‘No, that was a police-lady called. . Miss, what was the police-lady’s name, that caught that. . er. . you know, the chap that operated on women.’

  Dot would not say the word ‘abortionist’, any more than she would swear in church.

  ‘WPC Jones. I saw her today. She got a medal for seizing the Brunswick rapist.’

  Dot could feel her cheeks burning. Everything she said seemed to have a sexual meaning.

  Phryne, perceiving her embarrassment, launched into flying-shop talk with Jack Leonard.

  ‘Did you like Bunji, Jack?’

  ‘She’s a ball of lightning, isn’t she? Bustled in and spent twenty minutes with her head in the engine, and then she and Bill worked out how to mount the light. It’s a drain on the power supply, but I don’t think it’s enough to significantly affect the performance.’

  ‘Did she argue with Bill?’

  ‘All day. You could tell that they were both having a lovely time. And she’s a sporting flyer. Took the Alps and even flew over the Himalayas. Said that all you had to do to thoroughly depress the spirits was to look down. Nowhere at all to land — just rocks.’

  Phryne laughed, and shifted into top gear.

  The Geelong Road was visible only as a tarmac trail that gleamed faintly in the lights of the powerful car. There was no sound but the roar of the engine and the swish of the slipstream. Luckily Mr Butler had managed to put the hood into place or the passengers would have been even colder than they were. The stars shone down like lanterns — no, they were on the road: two swaying lights. An odd noise began to make itself heard. Phryne listened attentively. It was halfway between a clatter and a clop like hooves. She racked her memory, and concluded that she really was hearing a new sound.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ she asked.

  Dot cried out, ‘Slow down!’

  Phryne applied the brakes and the car lost momentum. She had almost stopped when the explanation was vouchsafed to her.

  A wave of advancing sheep circled the car, their fleeces oddly grey in the starlight. The moon was rising. The lanterns gleamed. A ghostly stockman, looking like a revenant from the past, raised a casual hand. Two jinkers clattered past, with bags slung underneath for the dogs to rest in. A dog barked. The sheep trotted down the road.

  ‘Thank you, Dot, I might have ploughed right into them. I didn’t know they took sheep along this road. And in the dark. How dangerous! They must be going to Borthwicks — and there’s the cemetery. How convenient. Well, tally-ho, and if anyone sights a flock of flamingoes or a herd of elephants, just let me know.’

  ‘Where are we?’ asked Molly.

  ‘About halfway I should think. We have to look out for Bunji and Henry in the Fokker outside Geelong. They should be over on the left side of the road, near the railway bridge. Give me a shout if you see them. Then we have to test the plan. I would feel very silly if I went ahead with it and it turned out not to function. I’d be left on my own with the kidnappers and they are probably armed.’

  ‘Are you?’ asked Jack.

  Phryne nodded. ‘Certainly. But I hope not to have to use it. I do not approve of guns.’

  ‘Good shot, are you?’

  ‘Not particularly. At the distance one has the most use for a pistol, however, it makes no difference. A man is too big a target to miss at a range of five feet.’

  ‘Why five feet?’

  ‘Any closer and he can grab,’ explained Phryne. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  Jack Leonard obliged with a dissertation on the merits of Rolls-Royce engines which lasted until they were nearing Geelong.

  ‘They bore their engine blocks, put them out to weather in a field for two years, and then re-bore them. I have never come across a Rolls with cylinder trouble. Marvellous machines. . Hello! There’s the Fokker.’

  Phryne swung the car off the road and drew to a halt on a flat paddock. The flying machine was stopped and had been turned on the grass so it could be got back into the air with the greatest dispatch. Bunji Ross, short and plump in her flying suit and boots, strolled over and grinned at Phryne.

  ‘Hello, Phryne. You’ll be pleased to hear that the gown was a great success. I only spilt a little tomato soup on it, which is good, for me. I’ve mounted the l
ight, m’dear, and I can cast a fairish light on the road, but only at very low altitude. I can’t make much impression on it over fifty to seventy feet. What’s the landscape from here to where you are going? Any mountains?’

  ‘Not as long as you follow the road. Leave the road and the ground gets very lumpy away to the left. If you can keep the plane to the right of the road, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Good, will do. I’ve got Henry with me. He has a good pair of Zeiss-Ikon binoculars and seems competent in the air. Come and let’s give this idea a try. Run her back towards Melbourne, pet, we don’t want to muddy our trail.’

  Phryne dabbed a small drop of paint on the road, then took the car slowly along, dripping a little paint out of the driver’s side. She continued for a quarter of a mile, then took the car off the road and waited.

  Overhead, but only just overhead, the Fokker engine roared. The plane circled once above the car. She dipped her wings, and flew off towards Geelong.

  ‘Good. It works. Bunji really is a brick. We are almost there. Jack, you take the wheel and remember what I said about garters.’

  Geelong was a sizeable town, encircled by grain silos and storehouses, with a respectable town hall and wide streets. It did not keep late hours. The only person Phryne saw who seemed to be awake was a strolling policeman. Phryne took note of the moon. It was now bright and full.

  ‘There’s the park, Jack, stop for a while at that corner near those big elms. Light a cigarette and look bored. Stand there until you finish the smoke, then you can go into the park and stop short of the band rotunda. According to the map, it must be about three hundred yards over that way. Molly takes the money and puts it into the hollow stump. Don’t stop and stare, just drop the bag in and walk away. Then you start the car and give her a lot of high revs in case they are already here. Then get back on the road and wait. We could be here all night, but don’t go to sleep. You wait for the plane, and keep a good way behind it. You’ll be able to see the light for quite a long way. In any case I think that we are going to Queens- cliff. Break a leg,’ said Phryne, and slipped into the darkness. In her black garb she was hard to see, and she stopped at a convenient mud-puddle and smeared her face.