Unnatural Habits: A Phryne Fisher Mystery (Phryne Fisher Mysteries) (38 page)

The minions were gathered in the parlour, worrying.

‘What did she say?’ asked Dot of Jane, who had actually spoken to Phryne.

‘That Polly Kettle wasn’t there,’ said Jane, who had an exact memory of that cold speech, muttered through a frozen mouth. ‘That the convent was as she thought it would be, but worse. That she wanted nothing. Then she told me to go away. So I went.’

‘She didn’t even want a drink,’ said Ruth. ‘Or anything to eat. And Mrs. Butler’s made her favourite petits bouchons au quiche lorraine.’

‘She didn’t even have a nice hot bath with lots of perfume,’ said Dot. ‘Just a shower with pine soap.’

‘Did she tell you to go away, too, Miss Dot?’ asked Tinker.

‘Yes,’ said Dot.

‘So what do we do?’ asked Tinker.

‘We leave her alone,’ said Dot. ‘Until dinner. Then… I have to make a phone call.’ She hurrried away.

The minions looked at each other.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Tinker.

‘Come on,’ said Jane. ‘Want to try some more chess?’

‘Bet you don’t beat me in two moves anymore,’ he responded.

‘What do you bet?’ asked Jane. Tinker didn’t own a lot.

‘I got…two crown caps, three fishhooks stuck in a cork, a button, four pretty shells and this nice bit of string,’ he said, dredging his pockets. ‘Bit of string’s always useful.’

‘I like the shells,’ said Jane. ‘Come along, and remember to watch out for the way knights move.’

‘They’re tricky,’ he agreed.

Ruth took her cookbook into the garden. Jane carried the chessboard. Tinker carried the box of chessmen. Dot, returning from her telephone call, brought her embroidery. It was a pleasant day out under the vines, shielded by the bamboo fences from the hot salt winds. Mr. Butler provided lemonade. It was a very quiet, comfortable afternoon. And they heard not a word from the first floor, where Phryne had shut herself in.

***

Seven o’clock, and there was a knock at her boudoir door. Phryne, who had been sitting on her window seat, staring out to sea, started. She had given orders that no one should even consider approaching her. Whoever was at the door was either extremely brave or extremely foolhardy.

Actually, he was Lin Chung, carrying a tray. She stared at him.

‘Silver Lady,’ he said in his gentle voice ‘May I come in?’

‘And if I say no?’ she snarled.

‘Then I will go away,’ he replied. ‘Taking this cocktail which Mr. Butler has compounded, these little pies which Mrs. Butler has prepared, and this copy of Sexton Blake which Tinker has lent you.’

She looked at him. He was, as always, immaculate, elegant, beautiful, foreign. And very patient. She had the feeling that if she chose not to speak, he would stay there, holding the tray of offerings, until she did or the world ended, whichever came first. She let the door fall open.

‘Come in,’ she said.

Downstairs, the household breathed a collective breath of relief. Then they went on with dinner. Dot’s gamble had paid off. Suddenly everyone was very hungry.

Lin Chung put down the tray and poured two glasses of the iced drink. Phryne took one. She sipped. It tasted of mint and tonic water and gin and elderflower cordial. It tasted, indeed, wonderful. She drank it. Lin refilled the glass. He surveyed Phryne. She was wrapped in her least-favourite dressing gown, and she had tied the cord very tight, binding herself closely. Her hair was disordered and her face was pale. She had been weeping.

‘These little hors d’oeuvres are very acceptable,’ he said, offering the plate. Phryne ate one. Her throat, which had been blocked with outrage, relaxed enough to swallow. Lin did not venture to touch her, as she seemed primed to explode. Dot’s phone call had been instructive. Phryne had been to a dreadful place which she could not amend. She had withdrawn and forbidden all contact. And she had a conference on the morrow which was very important to a number of shanghai’d girls. Therefore, Dot thought, Phryne needed Lin Chung. He knew all about misery, war, starvation and captivity. Lin had come to do what he could. He was not at all sure that he could comfort her, but he could provide an educated auditor.

‘Shall I send down for some more food?’ asked Lin.

‘Yes, please. And some more of that cocktail. Mr. Butler always knows what is going to be acceptable.’

‘It’s a supernatural gift,’agreed Lin gravely. He picked up the house telephone and gave the order. Phryne nibbled another petit bouchon.

‘Probably learned at butler’s college,’ she added.

‘Where he graduated top of his class, gold medal and magna cum laude.’

‘Indeed,’ said Phryne. When the tray of appetisers appeared and a refreshed jug, she said, ‘Dot sent for you, didn’t she?’

‘She did,’ he confirmed.

‘I didn’t ask her to,’ said Phryne.

‘She has the audacity of love,’ said Lin. ‘She was concerned about your state of mind.’

‘It was dreadful,’ said Phryne, putting a hand on his hand. ‘Not the hard work or the slavery or the conditions, though they were bad enough, God knows. Have you ever been in a convent?’

‘Not likely, Silver Lady,’ he said with a smile. ‘Monasteries, yes.’

‘I bet yours weren’t like this one,’ said Phryne.

‘Probably not. Buddhism works on the theory that all humans are sinful, due to being made of flesh. But the flesh makes its own punishment. Monks generally do not take it on themselves to punish us further.’

‘Nuns do,’ said Phryne. ‘They beat the women and starve them and misuse them and scold them continuously because they are wicked.’

‘Yes?’ prompted Lin. Phryne had not told him what he needed to know. He had not yet discovered the core of her disquiet and pain. He waited for her to disclose it

‘A girl spoke to a friend. That was against their rules. The nun beat her.’

‘Yes?’ Lin repeated.

‘The girl accepted it,’ said Phryne, her voice rising. ‘She accepted it! The nun knew she could hit her with impunity. The girl didn’t resent it. She didn’t even think of fighting back! Not even an angry look. Nothing.’

‘Ah,’ said Lin Chung, enlightened. ‘A story?’

‘All right,’ said Phryne, shaking with fury.

‘A slave in the old Imperial days, working on the Great Wall. He and hundreds, thousands of similar slaves carry and build all day until they die. One day a guard throws him down and beats him. The slave cries out, “Why are you beating me?” and the soldier, kicking him again, says, “Now I am beating you because you asked why.”’

‘Your point?’ asked Phryne.

‘That slave, should he have survived, would not ask again,’ said Lin imperturbably. ‘Cruelty teaches the slave about the death of hope.’

‘Those girls have no hope?’

‘Not that one, certainly,’ said Lin. ‘Others, perhaps. Dot told me there had been escapes.’

‘Yes, there have,’ she said.

‘Successful escapes?’ he asked, daring to approach and sliding an arm around her waist. She did not flinch. She did not knock him unconscious with a decanter. He was getting somewhere.

‘Yes, I found at least three who got out in one piece.’

‘So hope is not dead and cruelty does not always triumph. And you cannot save everyone,’ he added.

Phryne embraced him. His heart beat comfortingly under her cheek.

‘I still have some I can save,’ she murmured.

‘And I am here,’ he said simply, ‘to carry out your every wish.’

Phryne grinned wolfishly.

‘Begin by taking off those clothes,’ she said.

***

Lin woke at dawn. He was hot, sticky, extensively bitten and scratched, and felt as though he had spent the night with a very amorous female tiger, or possibly dragon. Eye-to-eye with him on his pillow was a large, dew-spangled black cat.

‘Quite a night, eh, Small Tiger Mau?’ he murmured. Ember butted his head into Lin’s chin. This human smelt agreeably male, but was clearly no rival for the local female cats’ affections. Phryne rolled over, pulled the other pillow over her eyes, and sank back into slumber.

‘I think if we are very careful,’ Lin told the cat, ‘we might be able to get up and have a wash and some breakfast before anything else is demanded of us. What do you think?’

Ember stepped delicately off the pillow. He had just heard Tinker come in through the back gate, delivering his very own fish. Lin slid out of the moss-green sheets without awakening Phryne and padded into the bathroom. He had been, he thought complacently, more extensively ravished than any man in the history of China, even the oversexed protagonist of The Carnal Prayer Mat
.
But some hot water would be pleasant. And some food. And some tea.

And then perhaps another little nap. It had been an eventful night. He took a shower with the pine soap, which stung in his claw marks, and dressed in a gown, then descended the stairs very quietly, barefoot.

Unsurprised, Mrs. Butler provided him with tea and toast with apple jelly, a mark of gratitude, which he carried back to the boudoir. He did not want Phryne to wake alone. She slept heavily, however. He finished his breakfast and lay down beside her again. In her sleep, she embraced him and laid her head on his chest.

When she woke she heard his heartbeat as she had the night before, and saw a dozing, golden countenance as she sighted over the muscles of chest and upper arm. His eyelashes were black and absurdly long. They fluttered as she watched, awoken like a cat by her glance falling upon him.

‘Silver Lady,’ he said.

‘Oh, Lin,’ said Phryne. She rose on one elbow. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘Minor flesh wounds,’ he replied.

She sought out and found and kissed every scratch and bite. This took some time, and would have led into further activities had not Phryne noticed the clock.

‘Rats,’ she announced. ‘Bath. Breakfast.’

‘Lunch, actually,’ said Lin.

‘Yes, I know,’ she told him, kissing him again. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Saved my life. Or my reason. Again.’

‘My pleasure,’ he replied. No one could doubt that he meant it. He went hunting in the wardrobe for a replacement shirt. His previous one had been ripped off his body and shreds of it decorated the bedroom. Phryne, when roused, was really very strong.