‘No thanks,’ said Dulcie. ‘We’d better get on. Fern’s got another lesson and I have to get back to the mending.’
‘Come back and see Bruno again,’ said Mr Wallace to Phryne. ‘He don’t like many people. He’d like to see you again.’
Phryne walked back onto the path between the tents with an idiotic smile on her face. What have I come to? she chastised herself. I’m so dependent on approval, and this circus cares so little for me, that I am terribly grateful if a bear likes me. Still, he does like me.
Dulcie was saying something and Phryne wrenched her attention back to her companion. It seemed that Phryne had impressed Dulcie with her aplomb.
‘Whew!’ said Dulcie. ‘I wonder you wasn’t scared to death! He’s supposed to keep that infernal animal chained up!’
‘Bruno’s all right,’ said Phryne. ‘Bruno is fine. But those lions are not. I do not like lions. What about those two men, then?’
‘Oh, just that they didn’t seem used to the lions. Everyone gets told not to go near ’em. They ain’t safe. Even Hans knows that. Every wild animal trainer gets mauled sooner or later. And don’t you go taking liberties with any of ’em, even if they look harmless, like Rajah or the bear. Rajah can pull up the big top on his own and Bruno nearly bit a kid’s arm off down at Colac. Kid thought that he’d tease him with a toffee apple, pulling it out of reach. Bruno took the apple and bit the kid to teach him not to tease bears.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ promised Phryne. ‘But it worked, didn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘I bet the little ratbag didn’t tease any more bears.’
Dulcie laughed. ‘Now, you know your way round, Fern? Are you staying here tonight?’
‘No, I’ve still got a day on my lodging. I’ll come in tomorrow.’
‘And you all right for . . . I mean, you got somewhere to sleep and all?’ said Dulcie. ‘Cos I can lend you a few shillings if . . .’
‘No, that’s all right.’ Phryne felt suddenly ashamed of her house and the exquisite dinner awaiting her. ‘You’re very kind, Dulcie.’
‘I been broke before,’ said Dulcie. ‘That way to the horse lines and you better put on that tunic. And hurry. Miss Molly don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Phryne fell four times during her next lesson. Her knack seemed to have deserted her. Miss Younger scowled but said, ‘You did all right this morning. We’ll try again tomorrow.’
Phryne limped back to groom and water Missy, favouring a scraped knee. Then she walked out of the circus and caught a bus.
Once home, she telephoned her solicitor and ordered him to make urgent enquiries about the ownership of Farrell’s Circus, authorising him to make an offer to buy it if he could not find out any other way. She had to know why Farrell tolerated Mr Jones.
When Alan Lee came to her front door, he was greeted by a woman in circus garb. Phryne had retained the scarf and the washed-out dress and she was limping.
‘Come up,’ she invited, leading him by the hand. He mounted the polished stairs to her boudoir. A sumptuous cold supper was laid out on the table. There were plates of smoked salmon, cheeses, caviar, olives, French bread and crisp salad. She locked the door behind him and led him into the bathroom.
‘Tonight you shall share my luxury,’ she said, pulling off the dress and the scarf and shedding battered undergarments, ‘because tomorrow I shall share your poverty.’
Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt and she stripped him with automatic efficiency, dropping his stained garments to the floor. The bath was full of steaming water, scented with horse chestnut. It was a bewitching, delicate fragrance. Phryne stepped into it and brought Alan Lee with her. The marble tub was big enough for two. He moved like a sleepwalker, overwhelmed by her nakedness and the summer-forest scent.
His hands found the bruises of her falls onto hard ground. He stroked them as she slathered him with sweet-smelling foam, extinguishing the smell of engine grease and fairy lollies. He mouthed at the offered breasts, nuzzling and suckling and she embraced him close in the green water. His black hair was slicked against his head. He laughed, smooth as an otter, strong as an eel, and pulled her under.
CHAPTER NINE
Where have they cast me and to whom
A bondmaid?
Euripides (translation, Gilbert Murray)
The Trojan Women
Joining the police force had supplied elements which had hitherto been missing in the life of Tommy Harris, who had led a blameless existence before he left his home in the country and came to the city in search of adventure. He had found excitement, suspense, more people than he had previously known to exist, and doses of carbon monoxide and alcohol that put a city patina on his over-healthy system.
He remained, however, a country boy and discovered that the methods he had previously used to subdue over-anxious horses worked perfectly well on his clientele. Now, taking his lead from his sergeant, he was trying to acquire subtlety. He was looking for Miss Minton, intending to observe her and draw deductions from her behaviour. He had heard that she was having an affair with a well-known theatrical producer, a point that could be checked. Tommy was in plain clothes and alone and was looking forward to an intellectual exercise in scientific police work.
But when he came into the Blue Diamond and found the owner’s large friends beating Lizard Elsie, he felt that subtlety was out of place and that strong and immediate action was needed.
To simplify the situation he waded into the crowd, hauled off one man and threw him against the wall, fatally injuring the decor. He tripped another so that he slid across the room and collided with a pile of chairs. He pulled the old woman out from under a pile of bodies and saw that Elsie had her teeth fixed firmly in one attacker’s ear.
‘Let go, Elsie,’ panted Tommy Harris. ‘I’ve got him. Let go!’
Elsie muttered something and refused to unclench. Her victim was white and screaming.
‘Get her off me!’
‘Let go, Elsie!’ commanded Constable Harris. The woman growled like a mastiff, her skinny hands clawing for the man’s more delicate parts to complete her victory. The victim clutched at his groin and screamed again. He was a lot bigger than Elsie but this did not seem to be of much assistance to him.
The patrons of the Blue Diamond had all withdrawn out of reach and were watching, fascinated. Constable Harris noticed a party in theatre-going clothes. One of the men was smoking a fat cigar, and Tommy was put in mind of a ferret which had been his constant companion during his youth. It had been a good ferret, called Bandit, but it couldn’t help biting. Once, when faced with the prospect of his sole offspring spending a lifetime with a ferret clamped to his finger, his father had found a novel solution. Deciding to apply it, Tommy leaned over, plucked the cigar from the man’s lips and blew a cloud of strong Havana smoke into Elsie’s face. Then he returned the cigar to the patron and dragged Lizard Elsie onto her feet as she sneezed and released her hold.
‘There we are,’ said Tommy in his butter-soft voice. ‘That’s better, Elsie girl.’
Her victim was sitting on the floor, holding his outraged ear with one hand and caressing his outraged genitals with the other.
‘She’s mad!’ he yelled. ‘She came in here asking for a drink and we was just showing her the door and—’
‘Takes three of you to throw me out, you fucking bastards,’ snarled Elsie. ‘Three of you! It would have taken bloody four when I had me strength. I’m fifty years old and it took three of you to get me down.’
‘Now, now, Elsie,’ soothed Constable Harris. ‘Let’s you and me sit down and have a drink, eh?’
‘That’s what I was fucking trying to do.’ Elsie was not pleased. ‘When these curs jumped on me.’
‘Well, well, these misunderstandings will happen,’ said Tommy. ‘Come on. You sit down here and have a drink and I’ll have a word to the manager.’ He took a bottle from a waitress’s tray and put it down in front of the old woman. ‘That’s ri
ght. Want a glass?’
‘A glass? What for?’ asked Elsie scornfully, applying the bottle to her lips.
Tommy left her and went to intercept Mr Albert Ellis, who was advancing across the ruined club with blood in his eye.
‘Mr Ellis, is it?’ asked Tommy easily. ‘Had a little trouble?’ He surveyed the owner and did not approve of what he saw. Albert Ellis was overdressed, had teeth like a rat, and altogether too much pomade on his hair. He offended Tommy’s taste in a way which Lizard Elsie did not.
‘Constable Harris,’ said Ellis, recognising him. ‘You going to arrest that bitch?’
‘No, why should I?’
‘She comes into my club, breaking my fittings, assaulting my staff . . .’
‘If your staff can’t deal with one old lady I reckon you should hire more,’ said Tommy easily. ‘And your decor ain’t nothing to write home about, either.’
This was undeniable. The Blue Diamond was furnished with chairs and benches that seemed to have come from an old cinema. Its walls, what could be seen of them, were painted pink and covered with old posters of film stars. Small tables made of packing cases, and a bar constructed of an old ticket box completed the ambiance. People did not go the the Blue Diamond for luxury. It was licensed to serve drinks with food until midnight. A supper at the Blue Diamond consisted of one ham sandwich. The ham was transparent and local legend said that the same sandwich had been in use for as long as the club had been open. It was now fossilised. In future times, museums might bid for it.
The Blue Diamond would undoubtedly be closed down for violations of its liquor licence, to open a month later under a new name. Cigarette butts littered the floor and the hot air was heavy with smoke. A dance band was tootling away in one corner, and on the pocket-handkerchief dance floor people had been dancing before the fracas with Lizard Elsie had provided a more interesting show.
‘I’m not having her in my club,’ said Albert Ellis. ‘Take her away.’
Lizard Elsie heard this and screeched, ‘You pox-rotted mongrel! You promised me ten bottles of ruby port, you fucking cur!’
‘Shut her up!’ snapped Ellis, and two of the fallen rose groaning and closed on Lizard Elsie. Tommy recognised Wholesale Louis on the floor, and Cyclone Freddy and the Mad Pole rising from the half-dead. They were both big and dangerous and they seemed to be rather cross with Elsie. Tommy was alone. He reached for the old woman and gathered her into his arms.
‘Come on, my girl,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving.’
‘Ooh, sailor,’ crooned Elsie, nursing her bottle. ‘Been a long time since anyone swept me off my feet.’
Tommy backed towards the door and it swung behind them. He was out in Brunswick Street before the boss could react. Still, it wouldn’t take them long. He hefted Elsie, who was surprisingly light, and began to run.
He had been so delighted with the idea of plain clothes work that he did not even have his whistle. However, he thought as he settled into a fast gallop, he must meet the beat policeman fairly soon. Then his colleague could summon assistance before Tommy and Elsie got the pummelling of a lifetime.
He heard voices behind them, and then feet. A shot pinged past him and buried itself in the door of the butcher’s shop.
‘They’re shooting!’ said Tommy with an astonished gasp. ‘Else, they’re shooting at us! We’ve gotta get off the street!’
Elsie, who had been hanging over his shoulder and watching behind, croaked, ‘There’s three of ’em, and that mongrel Louis’s got a gun.’
‘Elsie, what have you got yourself into?’ wondered Tommy Harris aloud. ‘It must be something big for them to risk shooting in the street—or shooting at all. It’s like Robinson said. Gangsters.’
‘Turn here!’ shrieked Elsie uncomfortably close to his ear. Harris paused. At that moment some force slammed him back against the wall at the corner of the lane. He staggered and dropped his burden. Elsie landed lightly and pulled him around the corner by the arm.
‘In here, sailor!’
She dropped to her knees and crawled under a fence. Tommy followed, feeling suddenly weak.
‘Lie here and don’t squeak,’ she ordered and slid back. She reappeared with a soaked and muddy shirt, which she dropped beside him.
‘Bit of shoosh,’ she suggested.
Tommy Harris felt for his side and found that his hand came away warm and wet. I’ve been shot, he thought. He was in no pain and his principal emotion was amazement.
Feet clattered down the lane and past the fence and paused. A cigarette lighter clicked and yellow light flared over the corrugated iron fences. A dog began to bark. Tommy Harris held his breath, feeling Lizard Elsie’s thin hand close on his shoulder. A voice said, ‘Nah. No trace. And we winged him and there’s no blood on these cobbles. Try the next lane, boys.’
The footsteps retreated.
‘You’re shot,’ said Elsie calmly. ‘I wiped up the blood with me second-best shirt. Crawl a bit back and we can have a light and I’ll have a look at yer, sailor.’
Tommy, strangely weak, hauled himself back across what felt like razor-blades and lay back in a nest of musty rags.
A match scratched and a small kerosene lamp was lit. Tommy found he was in a galvanised iron lean-to, manufactured out of bits of an old water tank. Lizard Elsie had furnished her little humpy with two old mattresses and several tattered quilts. She had some cooking gear, an old Coolgardie safe, and a battered leather handbag stuffed with what looked like papers. She put the lamp on the safe and rummaged among her belongings for a sheet. When she found it, she began to tear it into strips.
‘Let’s get that coat off,’ she said. ‘Yer shirt’s ruined.’
‘I’m all right, Else. Just let me lie here for a while and I’ll get up and call . . .’
He tried to sit up and found that he couldn’t. His muscles refused to answer.
‘No you ain’t,’ she said calmly. ‘You’re shot and if you don’t let me bloody look after you, you’ll fucking bleed to death all over me fucking bed.’
Tommy did not resist as she peeled off his coat and shirt and wadded old linen against his side. She sloshed some cold liquid into the wound. It stung. Her hands were sure and she seemed to know what she was doing.
‘Is it bad?’ he asked, hoping that his voice did not tremble.
‘Nah. Just winged you and tore away a bit of yer skin. You’ll be all right, sailor. Now, I’d brew you a cuppa but the fucking night-watchman’ll be around in a tick and if he sees me he’ll throw me out.’
‘Is this where you live, Elsie?’ The bandaging was tight and comforting and he still felt no pain. He was lazily interested in the pattern which the streetlights made through the holes in the galvanised iron. It couldn’t be very weatherproof, he thought.
‘Yair. This is me little nest. Between sailors, like. I’m gonna have to lie low. Who’da thought that bastard Albert Ellis’d have guns?’
‘They shot Reffo,’ Tommy pointed out. ‘At least, I think it was them.’
‘Yair.’ Lizard Elsie was subdued. ‘Yair. Outside the Provincial. They bloody shot Reffo all right.’
‘Why did Albert Ellis owe you ten bottles?’ asked Tommy hopefully.
‘He fucking owes me more than fucking that,’ said Lizard Elsie cryptically.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Enough fucking questions. Everyone’s got a question,’ snapped Elsie. ‘Now, we can either get out of here, through the factory gate once bloody old Smithy’s made his bloody rounds, or we can stay out of sight and see what daylight’ll do. Whaddaya think, sailor?’
Tommy Harris tried to sit up and found that his body had returned to his command. With this came a return of sensation. He clamped his mouth shut to stifle a groan. Red-hot wires seemed to have been run through his nerves and he could feel the throb of his own heart. Every beat hurt. Systole and diastole, they pounded on his senses until his eyes swam.
‘Later,’ he said and Elsie caught him as he fell back.
‘Later,’ she agreed. She shoved him a little aside and lay down beside him, suckling contentedly on the bottle which Tommy had grabbed at random. It was Napoleon brandy, kept in the Blue Diamond for the manager’s own personal guests. Elsie was lulled and soothed. She wrapped her arms around the large form of Police Constable Harris, breathing in his fresh healthy scent of male human, tweed and shaving soap. Fevered and exhausted, he laid his head on her breast.
Such darkness as was to be found in Fitzroy echoed with the sound of leather-clad feet as the ’Roy Boys searched all the lanes and byways for Lizard Elsie, the sailor’s friend, and her new protector.
Phryne Fisher rose from her green sheets, collected her lover and her circus gear, and faced her staff. They all looked worried.
‘I don’t know how long I’ll be away,’ she said, adjusting a turban over her black hair. ‘It might be days or it might be weeks. If anyone comes looking for me you are to say that I am in the country for a rest-cure and I have left no forwarding address. Here is a list of towns where I’ll call at the post offices for letters. Remember that I am called Fern Williams.’ She glanced at Dot apologetically. ‘Sorry, Dot dear, but I couldn’t think of another name at short notice. If you really need me write to me, but use cheap stationery and a Coles envelope. If I need anything I’ll write, or I’ll telephone, supposing I can find a phone that isn’t in the general store. If I need to be rescued, Mr Butler can bring the Hispano-Suiza and just whisk me off home. This is Mr Lee,’ she added, presenting a sleek and glowing young man. ‘Mr Alan Lee. He’ll know where to find me and his orders are mine.’
‘Miss,’ said Dot, ‘what about Detective Inspector Robinson?’
‘What about him?’
‘Are you going to tell him where you are going and all?’
‘That’s a good idea, Dot. You ring him and tell him. If he wants me, then he can follow the same routine. If he really wants me, tell him to get someone to arrest me. I can’t be seen to be on good terms with the cops.’
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