The Castlemaine Murders (11 page)

‘What happened then?’

‘He went back to his police station when the Protector came to us. I heard that the mob had broken all of his windows. He was in trouble because of that. Glass was very scarce and expensive. We used to give him vegetables as soon as we had a garden. I heard—yes, I am sure—that he was dismissed from the police force and he went to the quartz mine. We didn’t see him again. He was a good man. They don’t make men like that these days. I can still see him, standing like a sea-wall, quite still, while the waves broke on him.’

Lin Gan stared back into the past for some minutes. It was not kind to tire the old man. Lin stood up.

‘Thank you for your wisdom, Venerable One,’ said Lin Chung, handing over the flask. The old man caught his arm.

‘Sit a while, Great Great Nephew.’

Lin sat down again.

‘You did well to settle the feud,’ said the old man. Lin suppressed a stare of astonishment.

‘Thank you,’ he managed.

‘And your grandmother will forgive you her demotion in time,’ continued the old man, sipping a little whisky.

‘I hope so,’ said Lin.

‘I like your wife Camellia,’ observed Lin Gan. ‘She is clever with gardens. I saw her planting, I saw the garden she designed for your concubine and I watched her tie up this very jasmine. She will be a good wife to you.’

‘I hope so,’ said Lin.

‘But you must leave us all for a time,’ said Lin Gan, his old eyes as bright as bradawls in his walnut face.

‘I must?’ asked Lin, overwhelmed by unaccustomed compliments.

‘Of course,’ said Lin Gan, presenting him with the empty flask. ‘You must go to Castlemaine, and find out what happened to our four hundred ounces of gold.’

In the thirteenth year of the reign of the glorious Emperor Lord of
the Dragon Throne Kwong Sui of the Ching Dynasty, Sung Ma
in what ought to be the Beginning of Winter the ku’li greets his
sister Mai.

Soon we are going to land. We have seen new birds—land birds.
They are also very strange. One was blown aboard, screeching like
a soul in the Ninth Hell. It was as big as a chicken, as white as
paper, with a crest like crocus. It snapped with its black beak and
screamed for a while and then flew off, making a terrible cry, and
after it flew seventeen others. The sailors are still lighting incense.
They are sure that they are spirits. I feel that if they are spirits they
have come back from the dead in a very odd shape and a very bad
temper, so probably they are birds. I burned some incense to Kwan
Yin in case they aren’t.

The elder brother sends his love to the younger sister.

CHAPTER SIX

With an elevation of over 900 feet above sea level,
an invigorating climate without extremes, and
generally healthy conditions, Castlemaine is an
attractive place for a holiday.

Victorian Government
Tourist Bureau guide book

‘A fine kettle of fish!’ exclaimed Dot. She kicked at an inoffensive passing stone. She was returning from the telegraph office, having worded a suitable message fit for a Reverend Mother’s eye, which Phryne’s might not have been. Just once, Dot thought, I would like a whole month to go past with nothing much happening. A few parties, a few dinners, a little art appreciation, swimming now that the weather was agreeable, reading and sewing in the evening in that nice garden which Miss Camellia had so magically made.

The garden comforted Dot. Previously Phryne had had a yard with dustbins and hens. Now she had a bower with a bamboo hedge, a fence to hide the chooks and the dustbins behind, a fernery with white azaleas called ‘Phryne’ and a planting of sweet smelling trailers—jasmine and wisteria. Lin had provided bamboo furniture and it was just the place to sit in on a hot night with a shandy and a mosquito candle on the table. When the plants grew higher it would be entirely private.

And it would be pleasant to go to Eltham in the big car. Dot was almost reconciled to driving, though not driving with Phryne. Phryne drove like a demon.

Perhaps we could take a picnic . . .

Dot woke from her reverie just in time to see a totally unbelievable but definitely real khaki-coloured motorcycle roaring towards her down the footpath. The rider was helmeted and masked in a muffler. The machine was almost on her before she threw herself over a low fence and into someone’s privet hedge. And when she struggled out of the hedge, it was just a drone on the horizon.

‘Bloody disgraceful! Are you bloody all right, love? Someone bloody call a bloody copper!’ bellowed a woman in a baby’s bottom pink art silk dress so short it showed her garters. Dot, very shaken, leaned a little into the strong arm, imprinting her cheek with fifteen jingly gold bracelets. A reek of patchouli washed over Dot. Her rescuer was clearly one of St Kilda’s working girls. Which didn’t mean that it wasn’t a timely rescue or that Dot wasn’t grateful. Wasn’t her own sister employed to teach deportment to Tilly Devine’s girls in Sydney? Dot took a deep breath and stood up, leaning on the whore’s arm.

‘He just come out of bloody nowhere,’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Down the bloody pavement and bloody almost hit you!’

‘Thank you,’ murmured Dot. ‘Can you see my handbag?’

‘Here you are, now sit down here until you get your bloody breath. I never bloody saw such a thing! Bloody gutter crawlers are bad enough . . .’

Dot sat down on the fence and considered herself. A little scratched, a little shocked, nothing worse. One stocking ruined, as always. Adventure and stockings did not go together. Someone else approached.

‘Here you bloody are!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Never a bloody copper around when you bloody need one! You want to bloody do something about this! Some fucking bastard just ran this lady down.’

‘Name?’ asked an official voice.

‘Dot Williams,’ said Dot. Her vision was blurry. All she could see was blue serge and buttons. The space above the buttons gave a gasp.

‘Miss Williams? You’re Hugh Collins’ intended, aren’t you? There’s going to be hell to pay over this. Mabel, did you see it?’

‘I bloody did,’ declared Mabel. ‘He come off the road there, just at the corner, and came bloody roaring down here as though there was no next bloody Wednesday. And I’ll tell you another thing for free. He was bloody aiming at her.’

‘You sure?’ The policeman sounded sceptical. The arm around Dot stiffened.

‘Of course I’m bloody sure. I got his number, if that helps the constabulary in their bloody enquiries.’

‘You got his number, Mabel? Good girl. What was it?’

‘MW 471. Saw it clear as bloody day. Now if you’re quite bloody finished, I gotta get this lady home before she bloody expires on the pavement. If you don’t bloody mind.’

‘Can you walk, Miss Williams?’ Dot could see the policeman now. He was a young man with a concerned, grave face. ‘I can call for a car but it’ll take a while.’

‘I’m nearly home,’ said Dot. ‘If Miss Mabel would come with me, I can walk that far.’

‘I can bloody do that,’ said Mabel. ‘Come on, love. One foot in front of the other.’

Mr Butler received his third shock of the day when Dot limped up to the front door, leaning on the arm of a lady of the night and accompanied by a policeman. Phryne and Eliza jumped up when they came in. Dot was as white as her dowry bed-linen and Phryne was horrified.

‘Sit down, Dot dear, ask for anything you want. Tea for Dot, Mr Butler, and stiff drinks all round. Do sit down, Constable. Hello, I’m Phryne Fisher, nice to meet you.’

Mabel, already uneasy in this elegant parlour, took Phryne’s hand gingerly.

‘Well, I’ll be off, love,’ she said to Dot.

‘No, do stay. Have a drink and tell us what happened. What’s your fancy?’ asked Phryne. She grinned at Mabel and Mabel suddenly felt better.

‘Gin and orange, dear, if you’re having one. Well, it was bloody awful,’ began Mabel. ‘I come from the Town Hall where Carmel the Comm, I mean, Miss Shute, gimme a lecture on how the workers’ revolution would triumph, two bob and a food voucher. Then . . .’

Phryne listened carefully. The constable made notes. By the time she had absorbed two stiff gins, Mabel had lost her fear. While Phryne turned her attention to Dot, Mabel found herself talking about her life to Eliza, the other lady, who seemed sympathetic and was so good a listener that Mabel forgot she was in a lady’s parlour and talked as she would to her girlfriends.

Phryne gave Dot a swift physical once-over, took off her stocking and bathed her skinned knee and sat down beside her.

‘Try to drink all that tea, Dot dear, you’ve had a shock,’ she urged.

‘I can see it when I close my eyes,’ said Dot, proud that her voice did not tremble. ‘The bike getting closer and closer, the wind of it as it passed.’

‘Yes, the thing to do is let it run, like a ciné film. After a while it will slow down and then it will stop and go away forever. But if you resist and order your mind to forget it, the sight will lodge in the back of your head and give you nightmares. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. Now drink up,’ urged Phryne.

‘There’s brandy in this tea,’ protested Dot.

‘There certainly is, and as soon as you finish it you are going to bathe and lie down until you feel better. And when I lay hands on the bastard who did this, I am going to make him really wish that he hadn’t.’

Dot drank the tea. The immediate effect of brandy in the middle of the day was to make her sleepy. The motorcycle came and went in front of her eyes. Phryne escorted her upstairs, inserted her into a soothing bath into which she poured a large handful of Egyptian Asses Milk Bath As Used By Cleopatra and left her to soak while she found a long, silky, autumn leaf patterned gown which Lin Chung had given Dot for her birthday. Phryne was seething with cold fury. It was one thing to threaten Phryne herself. But to attempt murder on Dot was another. When she found that motorcyclist she would chain him to the back of his own bike and take him for a nice long drag.

Dried and dressed, Dot wanted to come downstairs again. To lie in her bed and watch that motorbike approach would be too uncomfortable. Phryne installed her in the garden under the bamboo bower with a glass of sherry cobbler, the newspaper—someone was still seeking Amelia Gascoigne’s relatives—and her sewing and rejoined the group in the parlour.

To her amazement, Mabel and Eliza were getting along swimmingly. This was clearly not the first time that Eliza had spoken to a whore. The obscenities with which Mabel punctuated her speech did not faze Eliza at all. Clearly Eliza had spent a fair amount of time with Lady Alice What’shername in the East End. Phryne stuffed a banknote into Mabel’s hand as she was leaving.

‘I don’t bloody need this for just doing what I bloody did,’ she protested, shaking her bottle blonde head.

‘Take it because it would make me feel better,’ said Phryne. The shrewd eyes surveyed Miss Fisher appraisingly.

‘Your sister says you’re a detective. You gonna find that bloody bastard?’

‘Yes,’ said Phryne gently.

‘You gonna nail his balls to a tree?’

‘Both of them,’ said Phryne. ‘With two separate nails.’

Mabel grinned. ‘Should happen to more of ’em,’ she declared. ‘Ta-ra, then!’ and she went down the steps.

The constable was taking his leave. ‘I’ll let Hugh Collins know,’ he said. ‘He’ll likely be around as soon as he hears. This is an attempted murder, Miss Fisher. I’ll report to Detective Inspector Robinson.’

‘How reliable is Mabel?’ asked Phryne. The grave policeman considered the question. He seemed too young to know as much as he evidently knew about the street trades of St Kilda. His eyes were grey and weary and his voice low.

‘Drinks a bit—they all do. Doesn’t drug, though. Been around for years, Mabel has. I reckon if she says that’s how it happened, then that’s how it happened. I’ll let the beat officers know she’s helping us and they can give her a bit of leeway. That’ll keep her sweet. Been on the game for more than ten years, poor old girl. Well, I’ll be off. Got to trace that number.’

Mr Butler showed the constable out. Then he returned to Phryne.

‘Miss Fisher, I really . . .’

‘I know, I know,’ said Phryne. ‘This is quite above and beyond the call of duty. But think about it, Mr Butler, and please don’t give your notice. I can’t go through all that again.’

‘I was about to say, Miss Fisher,’ said the butler, drawing himself up to his full height, ‘that if Mrs Butler and I can be of any assistance in apprehending the villain who attacked Miss Williams, you have only to ask.’

‘Thank you, Mr Butler, that is very kind of you,’ replied Phryne. ‘If the occasion arises I shall let you know. I’ve left Dot in the bower, perhaps Mrs B wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on her through the kitchen window? Dot hates being fussed over. And another drink for my sister and me. What’s your pleasure, Eliza?’

‘Just tea,’ said Eliza. ‘Isn’t this interesting! Mabel tells me that one does not starve in Australia.’

‘No,’ said Phryne, accepting a gin and tonic. ‘Not starve to death, not usually. Provided you’re first at the pig bin you can get the best vegetables and there’s usually a bit of work to be picked up here and there, but times are hard and getting harder. Food’s not as dear as in England and the climate is kinder. You don’t freeze to death here if you have only one blanket. You got on well with Mabel, Eliza. I was most impressed.’