Death at Victoria Dock (11 page)

Phryne watched the magician trail his dead puppet across the crowded stage and reflected that the symbolism was a trace obvious.

The girls and Dr. MacMillan, caught up in the story, were on the verge of tears. Even Dot was sobbing.

‘Poor Petroushka!’ exclaimed Ruth, indignantly. Jane sniffed, and Dr. MacMillan supplied her with a huge handkerchief.

‘Another curtain,’ Phryne remarked. ‘They are getting a full reception. Come on, ladies. Bert and Cec are waiting.’

‘Poor Petroushka,’ echoed Jane, as she followed Phryne out of the box and onto the grand staircase. ‘It wasn’t fair!’

Phryne, thinking of Yourka and Nina, agreed that it was not fair. The emotions of both the girls were mollified by time and the purchase of a hand-painted programme.

Phryne put herself to bed in her own house in possession of more dangerous information than she felt that she could handle.

***

And where was Alicia Waddington-Forsythe?

Chapter Ten

‘Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
Are never valued till they make a noise.’

George Crabbe,
Tales of the Hall

The morning dawned with the furious ringing of the telephone. It woke Phryne, who had slept lightly, worrying about bank robberies and missing girls. It brought Mr. Butler out of his own quarters with a piece of buttered toast in his hand.

‘Miss Fisher’s residence,’ he articulated, spattering crumbs. ‘No, madam, Miss Mary is not here.’

At that moment the door bell rang. Mr. Butler said into the phone, ‘If you will excuse me, madam, just one moment…’

Phryne, at the head of the stairs, heard the door open.

Mr. Butler allowed someone to enter, then resumed his conversation.

‘Mrs. Tachell? Miss Mary has just arrived. I gather that she has come to see Miss Fisher. No, madam, she is quite well. Yes, madam, I will ask Miss Fisher to call you as soon as she is in possession of the facts. Certainly, madam. A pleasure, madam. Good morning.’

Mr. Butler broke the connection. Phryne flowed down the stairs in her silver-and-jade lounging robe and silver slippers in time to receive a hysterical girl who flung herself into Phryne’s silk-clad embrace.

‘Oh, Miss Fisher, I had to come!’ sobbed Mary Tachell.

Phryne, who had little patience for being cried over, hugged the girl tight and drew her into the salon.

‘Ask Mrs. Butler for some breakfast, Mr. B., or at least some tea. Is Dot up yet? And the girls, if you please. We seem to have come to some crux.’

‘Not the girls…’ wept Mary, and Phryne sat her down in a big chair and handed her a handkerchief.

‘Now, now, Mary, don’t take on so,’ she chided. ‘No need for
all this emotion so early in the morning.’

Mr. Butler reclaimed his piece of toast and retreated to the kitchen, where Mrs. Butler, Dot, Jane and Ruth were breakfasting.

‘Your schoolfellow has arrived,’ he announced to the girls, ‘in a tizz. Miss Fisher wants tea.’

Dot poured boiling water into the company teapot and assembled cups and cutlery. Jane bolted her porridge.

‘No hurry, Jane,’ said Dot. ‘Miss Phryne don’t like being interrupted when she’s talking to someone. Give it ten minutes,’ and Dot sailed into the salon with the tray, unloaded it, and came back to report that Mary Tachell was still weeping freely and would go on doing so for some time.

‘Gosh,’ said Ruth, buttering another piece of toast and lavishing Oxford marmalade on it. ‘I wonder what’s happened?’

‘I bet,’ replied Jane, ‘that she has read Alicia’s diary.’ Mary Tachell stopped crying to drink her tea and sniff at the sal volatile which Dot had thoughtfully provided. The child was distraught. Her pale eyes were as red as lillipilli berries and her complexion blotched into a parody of her
Alice in Wonderland
self. Phryne noticed that through all that emotional collapse she had kept tight hold of a book, bound in purple leather, with
Firenze
embossed on the cover.

‘I went to the Domain Gardens this morning,’ sobbed Mary. ‘I found the diary. I caught the tram to take me here, and on the way I…I…’

‘Read the diary,’ prompted Phryne, who would not have been able to resist reading it under the circumstances. ‘Never mind.’

‘Oh, Miss Fisher, it’s what was in the diary! Alicia, she…she…’

‘Don’t take on so, Mary. If you can’t tell me, then give me the book. It can’t be that bad.’

‘Oh, it is!’ and poor Mary wept again. Phryne summoned Ruth and Jane from the kitchen door, where she had spotted them lurking, and they came forward to embrace Mary Tachell, sitting either side of her in the big chair. Mary turned her face into Jane’s flat adolescent chest.

‘Never mind, Mary,’ soothed Ruth. ‘You’ve done the right thing, bringing the diary to Miss Fisher. She’ll find Alicia.’

‘I don’t…I don’t know whether I want her to find Alicia after what I read in her diary,’ confessed Mary. ‘And she’s my only friend!
’

Mary howled and Jane patted her helplessly.

‘We’ll be your friends, won’t we, Ruth?’ Ruth muttered something about ninnies, and then said aloud, ‘Of course we will.’

‘Will you let me join your club?’ demanded Mary, from the depths of her disordered hair. Jane sighed.

‘Yes, I suppose so. Stop crying, now.’

‘Take her into the kitchen, girls, and give her some breakfast,’ said Phryne, leafing through the diary. ‘I’ll be with you directly.’

Ruth and Jane took Mary away.

‘Let’s see, now. What beautiful handwriting the child has. Convent educated, obviously. Have a look, Dot.’

‘Yes, Miss, nice convent hand. I used to write like that, when I was at school.’

‘What do these mean? Prime, matins, nones?’

‘They’re the conventual hours, Miss. The nuns go to church at set times during the day and the night.’

‘Really? When do the poor things sleep?’

‘Between midnight and dawn, Miss. See—she says that she wants to be a nun.’

‘“I think I have a vocation, and Reverend Mother thinks so too,”’ read Phryne. ‘“It is my destiny to be a nun. I wish I was a Catholic! It is easier for them. Their family would think it was an honour. But Father won’t allow it, he got into a frightful state when I tried to talk to him. Mem: remember the tortures of the martyrs. I wish I could torture Father. It’s not as if he wants me. He is in love with Christine. So is Paul. She is the Scarlet Woman. I wish she would die.”

‘Strong words, Dot.’

‘Yes, Miss, but you can see why she feels like that. And it’s true about Catholic families. My mum wanted me to become a nun. When I was twelve I thought that I had a vocation, too. Lots of little Catholic girls want to be nuns. Poor little thing, they should have left her in the convent. She might have grown out of it.’

‘I’ll skim through this bit…complaints about her father…rude comments about Christine…aha!

‘“I could not sleep and I am keeping the Hours. Last night I saw Paul coming out of Christine’s room, when Father was at the lodge meeting. She kissed him at the door. She kissed him like a lover. It’s awful!!! What shall I do? My father is dishonoured. I shall have to tell him!”’

‘It is as the girls thought, Miss,’ said Dot soberly. ‘I wonder what she did?’

‘Not much more, Dot. Bear up. And he is the most beautiful young man. Pregnant women have their fancies.’

‘Miss, how pregnant is Mrs. Waddington-Forsythe?’

Phryne stared at Dot, looked at the date of the diary entry, and whistled.

‘For a well brought-up girl, Dorothy, you have the most indecent imagination. And you are quite right. I put Mrs. W. at about five months. This entry is six months old. And I thought that the old goat was overpleased at having sired a child. Oh, Lord, Dot, what can have happened to Alicia? Dynamite stuff! Did she speak to her father?’

‘Go on with the diary, Miss.’

There were ten pages left. On one was written the address of a famous alienist who practised in Collins Street, and a time.

‘I presume that this was an appointment,’ commented Phryne. ‘We must speak to Dr. Honeycombe. What more from Alicia, then?

‘“Paul has been unfaithful to me,”’ read Phryne disbelievingly. ‘“He said that he’d never love anyone but me. Now he is in love with Christine. Just because she’s older and has a better shape. Paul has loved me since I was twelve. He is mine. I was going to give him up to be a Bride of Christ but now Father says that I have to go to some school in the city. He wants me to make a good marriage. I am not fit for marriage. The man would know. I have been a great sinner,”’ continued the diary, a shade complacently. ‘“Now that Father will not allow me to be a nun, the only thing I can do is die and let God judge me. Holy Mary Mother of God have mercy on all sinners!”’

‘The man would know,’ said Dot. ‘What would he know?’

‘That she wasn’t a virgin, Dot,’ said Phryne gently. ‘Paul has been spreading himself about a bit, hasn’t he?’

‘Lord deliver us!’

‘And I have a good idea what has happened to Alicia. Let’s finish the diary. Do you feel all right, Dot?’

‘No, but let’s finish it, there can’t be anything else.’

‘“Christine wants me to see Dr. Honeycombe,”’ concluded the diary. ‘“I am to go there tomorrow. Because I tried to run away. And I shall run away again. And if I’m dead they won’t be able to find me then. Reverend Mother says that God ordains a vocation.”’

‘Get me Mrs. Waddington-Forsythe on the phone, Dot, and then find the Reverend Mother’s number.’

Phryne’s face was so stern that Dot, considerably shaken, did her bidding swiftly.

‘Mrs. Waddington-Forsythe? Phryne Fisher. How are you? Good,’ Dot heard Phryne purr. ‘And your health? Excellent. Now I won’t keep you on the telephone, I’m sure that you must be worried about Alicia. You are? I see. Now, pay attention, and don’t make an outcry, because you will have to explain it. I know about Paul, the paternity of that cuckoo you are carrying, and what you did to Alicia. I hope that she is well, or I shall have to expose you. Give me the address of the clinic and then a written document, signed by your repulsive husband to the effect that Alicia has his full permission to be a nun. When? Today. I shall go and fetch her immediately. Send it around by car within the hour. Mr. Waddington-Forsythe is at home, is he? Good. If Alicia is all right, then you will hear nothing more about this. If she is not, then I fear that I will have to reveal all.’

Some panicky protests could be heard. Phryne held the phone away from her ear, and then resumed it.

‘Got that over with? Good. The address, please.’

Phryne scribbled on the writing paper which Mr. Butler had left on the table. He liked his telephone books to be neat.

‘I’ve got that. And an order from you for her release, please. You will call the doctor directly, won’t you? If I meet with any check in this rescue, I shall not be pleased.’

Gabbled reassurances reached Dot three feet away.

‘I shall call you again when the matter is complete. Don’t go out, will you? I may need your testimony. Good morning.’ Phryne slammed down the phone, picked it up again, and asked for the Eltham number.

‘Dot, ask Mr. B. for the car. Blankets and brandy. Hello, this is Phryne Fisher, can I speak to Reverend Mother? Yes, I’ll hold the line. Dot, get that poor Mary cleaned up to go home and send her there in a taxi as soon as poss. Tell the girls that I can’t take them to the beach this morning. Get Bert or Cec to go with them as bodyguard if they want to go out—and you, too. Be careful. We are still knee deep in anarchists. Hello? Yes, I’m waiting for Reverend Mother. It is urgent. Yes, I’ll hold…tell Mr. B. we are going to Eltham and then to…aha. Good morning, Reverend Mother. Phryne Fisher.’

‘Good morning, Miss Fisher.’ The voice was cool and faintly amused, as always. Phryne could picture the magnificent study
with the bow windows looking onto the garden full of plum blossom.

‘I’ve found Alicia, and I want you to come and rescue her.’

‘Where is she? I will come, of course. Is she…was it…Gertrude Street?’

‘No, worse. She’s in a private mental clinic on the Plenty Road, rather near your convent, actually.’

‘And is she insane?’

‘Well, she wasn’t a few days ago, but what she might be now, who can tell? She has had the most frightful experience, which I will tell you about when I see you. Will you come, and will you accept her as a…novice? Is that the term? If she is still of sound mind?’

‘But her father…’

‘Her father has no further objections.’

‘As long as the poor little thing has her own wits and wants to be a nun, Miss Fisher, then God would be very cross with me if I did not accept her.’

‘I’m glad. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

‘Anything I can do in the meantime?’

‘Pray,’ advised Phryne. Reverend Mother chuckled.

‘Good advice,’ she agreed. ‘I shall see you soon, Miss Fisher.’

Phryne called Bert and Cec at their boarding house.

‘Bert? Can you come and look after the girls for me?’

‘I ain’t much good at baby sitting, Miss,’ protested Bert.

‘Yes, you are. I am under threat by the anarchists and I can’t attend to it myself. I need some guards. I can’t keep them inside all the time. Besides, I don’t want them to think that they’ve frightened me. Are you on?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ agreed Cec, who had taken over the phone. ‘You want us armed?’

‘Yes,’ said Phryne. She heard Cec draw a deep breath.

‘You know what will happen to us if we are sprung carrying concealed firearms, don’t you, Miss?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right, Miss, see you in a tick.’

Dot brushed past Phryne, with an armful of blankets and the brandy flask. Phryne picked up the phone again.

‘Russell Street,’ she ordered. ‘Detective-Sergeant Carroll. Yes, I’ll wait.’

‘Miss? Mary Tachell wants to go home.’

‘In a minute, Dot. Can you go outside and watch for a car from the Waddington-Forsythe pest house? It’s bringing me two letters and I want to read them before it goes back. Find me a pencil that writes, will you? I’ve broken this one. And Bert and Cec are coming to look after you while I’m away. Hello? Bill? Phryne Fisher. I’ve got some news. The State Bank on the corner of William…yes, the big one…Thursday at two in the afternoon. And they’ve got a Lewis gun, so be careful…’

Phryne accepted a newly pointed pencil from Dot and immediately broke it on the writing paper. ‘Listen, you great lump of a cop, I risked my life for this info, and I can’t tell you where I got it, but the provenance is impeccable…straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak…’

‘Don’t get so excited, Miss Fisher,’ said the calm voice. ‘I believe you. It’s them I don’t believe. Them commos, the truth ain’t in them, and they ain’t got no sense of planning. But thank you for the office, Miss. I’ll tell my boss. It’ll be up to him what we do about it.’

‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Phryne, and hung up. She ran upstairs and threw on an assortment of clothes.

‘Coffee!’ she called, walking into the kitchen, where Mrs. Butler had anticipated the request and was stirring Greek coffee, water, and sugar in a pan. Mary Tachell, mopped up and fed, was in the girls’ room listening to their phonograph. Mr. Butler was finishing his breakfast wearing a chauffeur’s cap, his greatcoat hung over the door.