Murder in the Dark (32 page)

‘Certainly, Sylvanus. If you do exactly as I say.’

‘When did you know it was me?’

‘I suspected you all along,’ said Phryne. ‘No one else has the right kind of mind to make up riddles. Gilbert wouldn’t have the patience. I was rendered more suspicious when I saw you carrying two lunch boxes. Then I saw you rowing on the lake when I know you can’t swim. Everyone else played consequences but you, and the riddler’s neat script wasn’t in the consequences, though that’s negative evidence and might not have meant anything. But finally, I just saw the riddler’s handwriting on those notes in indelible pencil on the Templar accounts.’

‘Oh,’ said Sylvanus. ‘Well, what shall we do?’

‘Can Tarquin swim?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘This is what you do,’ said Phryne, and gave careful, clear instructions.

‘And this will work?’

‘It will,’ said Phryne.

Sylvanus kissed her hands, and left the tree. Phryne got up. She had to interview Isabella, and this was probably as good a time as any.

The Lady was lying back in a hammock, listening to Sabine reading French poetry, when Phryne, Sam, Minnie and Marigold came in. Marigold was dressed in a cut-down and re-sewn shift with roses on it that Phryne had never really liked. Phryne attracted Sabine’s attention and pointed to the door. Sabine’s eyes widened as she saw the girl. She closed the book and went. Isabella became aware that the soothing voice had stopped and opened her ice blue eyes.

‘I’ve found Marigold,’ said Phryne. Isabella sat up in the hammock and swung her feet to the floor. Marigold went to her and hugged her briefly.

‘Phryne, you really are amazing,’ murmured Isabella. ‘Are you well, child?’

‘Yes, but . . . I want to go and live with them,’ blurted Marigold.

‘Do you?’ asked the Lady. ‘Why?’

‘They saved me,’ said Marigold. ‘And Sam killed the man who tried to murder me. And Mr Gerald.’

‘Oh, you are that Sam,’ said Isabella, rising to her feet. She was almost as tall as Sam. She put both hands on his shoulders. He swayed. Being this close to a deity was overwhelming.

‘You saved Gerald’s life. Thank you,’ she said, and kissed him on the cheek. Then she turned her gaze on to Minnie, standing at attention in her black dress.

‘And you love this Sam?’

‘Yes, madam,’ said Minnie.

‘For what you have done,’ said Isabella, ‘you could have asked anything of me. If Marigold wants to be with you and you will undertake to love her, then she may go. The Melbourne lawyers will arrange the adoption. Take this to remember me by,’ she added, detaching a sapphire brooch from her shoulder and pinning it on Marigold’s flat chest.

‘Thank you!’ said Marigold. Then she took Sam’s hand in one grasp and Minnie’s in the other and the three walked out of the tent, dazed but happy.

‘That’s good,’ said Isabella unexpectedly. ‘I’m glad the child is settled. They seem to be nice, solid, peasant stock. I’m glad she has someone else to love her.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, we are broke,’ Isabella told Phryne. So much for Gerald trying to protect her. ‘That worm Ventura has stolen every centime we have. I had thought of a Teutonic ending— Wagnerian, you know. Brunhild has always been one of my heroes. But I don’t suppose Gerald will allow it, and I can’t leave him. I am not going to enjoy being a
hausfrau
, Phryne. We have always eschewed the bourgeois.’

‘Something may come up,’ said Phryne.

‘That’s what Gerald says,’ she responded, combing her pearly fingers through her flaxen hair.

‘And sometimes it is true,’ said Phryne, and went out, sending Sabine in to continue with her rendition of Verlaine.

‘
Il pleutre dans mon coeur
: It rains in my heart, as it rains in the city . . .’

Fallen Angel
3 parts gin
1 part lemon juice
2 dashes of green creme de menthe
dash of angostura

Stir gently with ice.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Edward Fitzgerald
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam of Naishapur

After lunch, Phryne decoyed Gerald down to the lake. Gerald swam as he did all athletic things, with style and grave efficiency. The water was cool and several people were bathing. Even Sylvanus was out in one of the rowing boats. There was a hat over his eyes and he was leaning back, apparently half asleep. Gerald swam into the middle of the lake and lay back in the water.

‘This was a good idea, Phryne,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been inside too long. This is a nice place, you know, Australia. The horizon is so far away. I could afford a small farm, perhaps, the acolytes could learn to plough and sow, and we could have a cow and a few goats, grow our own vegetables. Isabella . . .

’ His voice trailed off. No, Phryne couldn’t imagine Isabella as a farm wife, either.

‘If only I could find Tarquin . . .’

‘Gerald, look!’ exclaimed Phryne. Gerald sat up in the water. She was pointing towards the little island where the goldfish swam. A boy was crawling out onto the land, out from the shell grotto. He was wavering. He was falling into the lake . . .

Phryne was shoved aside by the bow wave as Gerald powered past her with a fast overarm stroke. He churned through the water and arrived in time to secure the drooping figure as it flailed helplessly and went down for the second time.

Gerald grabbed and embraced.

‘Tarquin,’ he said tenderly. ‘There now, don’t grab. I’ve got you, you’re safe. Lie on your back and I’ll tow you to shore. I have been frantic with worry for you, boy, searched everywhere. Were you locked in the grotto by that murderer? It’s all right, he’s dead, quite dead and good riddance . . .

’ It is hard to babble while swimming and towing a child in a lifesaving chin-grip, but Gerald was managing it. Phryne waved to Sylvanus that his boat was not going to be needed. Gerald reached shore and wrapped Tarquin in his towel, lifting the boy gently into his arms. Tarquin stared into his face with absolute worship and snuggled.

Phryne’s eyes pricked with tears. She looked around for something to distract herself. The escape of Tarquin had attracted watchers. The horsemen and hearties were present, cheering the rescue. Amongst them Phryne saw three faces that she had memorised.

‘Rally round, chaps,’ she said to the horsemen. ‘I need a favour. These three brutes and bounders play a game which involves throwing people into the water. They once did this to a young friend of mine and almost drowned him.’

‘And you think a little cold water would do them good?’ asked Jill.

‘I do.’

‘Heave ho, then,’ said Ann. Joined by Ralph Norton and even Johnson, the riders descended on Belcher, Beldham and Travis.

‘No!’ screamed Travis. ‘I can’t swim!’

‘Neither could my young friend,’ said Phryne relentlessly. ‘You are to be reminded that it is a good idea to ask whether someone wants to join your rustic games before engaging them. He was a Chinese boy,’ she said. ‘Throw a Chink into the Thames, I believe you said at the time. Well, today is Throw a Bastard into the Lake Day. You may proceed,’ she said to the horsemen.

‘One, two, three,’ they chorused, and Beldham went into the water with a huge splash.

‘One, two, three!’ they laughed, as Travis struggled and tried to run away and was entered into the lake.

‘One, two, three!’ they giggled, and Belcher joined his Brook. Phryne watched them struggling with vengeful pleasure.

‘Don’t let them drown completely,’ she called to Sylvanus.

‘Right you are, Phryne,’ said Sylvanus, radiating relief from every pore. He had thought Isabella a goddess. He just hadn’t known what goddesses were, before he met Phryne Fisher again.

Phryne went back to her hornbeam tree and her book. Nicholas was still asleep in her bed. The room now smelt of iodoform, which was not erotic. Everything was approaching ‘well’ in the Dame Julian sense in her world. The murderer was dead. Marigold had her chosen parents. Tarquin was back with Gerald. Sylvanus was saved from exposure. Even if the little ratbag returned to his waspish personality, he could not do anything to Syl without exposing his own acquiescence in the scheme. The only remaining problem was the Templars’ finances, and that seemed insoluble.

Phryne dozed. She was still weary from the previous night’s exertions. The hornbeam tree filtered light through its leaves and it fell as an enchantment on tired eyes. Phryne slept and dreamed of fairies.

Phryne was woken at five by a faun. He was not young, and the pursuit of nymphs over difficult country had shortened his breath and stiffened his limbs, not to mention what the consumption of nectar and ambrosia had done to his teeth, but a faun nonetheless, smiling a vastly relieved smile. Sylvanus was himself again.

‘Hello, Syl,’ yawned Phryne. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Five, and karez is at six in case you want to attend. I’m going to.’

‘How is everything?’

‘I didn’t let your brutes drown,’ he said, grinning again. ‘Though I did get a reasonable number of lucrative offers on that score from the polo players. But they were breathless and drenched and scared by the time I rescued them and they won’t be flinging people into water for the foreseeable. In fact, I suspect that they will be hard pressed to accept water of any sort but Scotch-and- or bath.’

‘Excellent.’ Phryne stretched. Lin’s cousin was avenged.

‘Tarquin is nestled into Gerald’s bosom as though he has never been away. The imprisonment and waiting seem to have rubbed some of the edges off the dear boy’s character, which is an improvement. We’ve both got the goods on each other but he doesn’t seem to want to exercise any sway.’

‘Super,’ said Phryne.

‘Owe it all to you,’ said Sylvanus, kissing Phryne’s hand. ‘Anything I can do for you?’

Phryne thought about it, and expressed a wish. The faun’s lecherous grin showed again, crinkling his bright eyes.

‘Done and done,’ he said. ‘I’ll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.’

‘Well done, fair sprite,’ murmured Miss Fisher.

Phryne returned to the Iris Room to see how Nicholas was feeling. He was sitting up in a chair, reading one of her detective stories. His eyes were clear and he did not seem to be feverish.

‘Hello!’ he said. ‘I wish I had this Miss Marple on my team. She can see straight through any malefactor.’

‘Yes, old ladies are mostly like that,’ said Phryne. ‘Do you feel like coming to karez?’

‘Are you going?’

‘If you are. Otherwise we can sit here and read detective stories.’

‘Karez it is,’ he said.

Phryne went to her bath and adopted certain precautions. She wore her cornflower shift, as she would have to change into karez garments. Nicholas in flannels joined her and they were absorbed into the buzz of acolytes, changing clothes, listening to the soothing, slow, erotic music in the main tent. Puffs of hash smoke were already scenting the heavy air. Phryne caught sight of Sylvanus. He winked at her. It was the most obscene wink of her experience.

She took the faun’s hand and he led her and Nicholas into a corner of the tent where a fold of material carelessly slung from a rope hung down. Phryne had brought along her bag, which was not unusual. She settled herself down on a mattress and Nicholas lay down beside her, close to the edge.

Kissing began with a sigh and a rustle like birds nesting for the night. Nicholas surrendered himself to gentle kissing and touching. He could not lean on his left shoulder, but he did not even need to move. Phryne positioned herself so that he could reach all of her salient features, and as the drugged karez hour went on, he heard her sharp sigh several times.

Then he was conscious of cool air moving across his belly. Miss Fisher had imported a pair of scissors, and had cut through his karez undergarments with careful nibbles, so slowly that he had not felt it. She stood to remove her own. The tent was darkened and the moaning of the semi-orgasmic was becoming louder.

Phryne straddled Nicholas and they came together at last, slow and close and so fiery that he felt that his bones might dissolve. Careful of his wounded shoulder, Phryne rode him with thighs strong enough to control a hysterical horse. He melted, he groaned; his mouth was covered by Amelia, who lay head to head with him. He stiffened in every muscle and then fell back, spent, exhausted, and terribly happy. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. When he opened them again it was obviously later. He was conscious of time having passed.

‘Come along,’ Phryne whispered, pulling him by his unwounded hand. ‘We have to get out before the lights come up.’

He crawled into the dressing annex. Phryne found his clothes and arrayed him. Then they went out of the smoke and erotic fug into the cool night air.

‘Oh,’ said Nicholas, coming awake all at once.

‘Indeed,’ said Phryne, and kissed him lightly. ‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘I have taken precautions. There will be no unfortunate results. But I just wanted you. And I never could stand karez for too long. My Sapphic friends say I’d make a perfect lesbian if I didn’t have this strange yen for male genitalia. But there it is,’ she added.

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.

‘Now, we are going to the horsemen’s fire to get some coffee,’ said Phryne. ‘Then back to change for the party. Are you too tired?’

‘Oh, Phryne,’ he said, embracing her. ‘At the moment, I could fly.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Let’s fly.’

The New Year’s Eve Bal Masqué, positively the Last Best Party of 1928, was just starting as Phryne and Nicholas returned. She had donned her folly dress, a concoction of sunshine yellow silk gauze and a froufrou skirt edged in black maribou. It had a daringly tight bodice. It was to be worn with a feathery mask. Nicholas was in correct evening costume, his blue eyes heightened by the black domino. His black suit had been made in Paris. It had that faint air of the fantastical which Paris tailoring brings to a conventional garment.

Sylvanus bounded up, dressed as Harlequin. He was in competition with several Pierrots, who would be spoiled for choice amongst five Columbines. The smoke had been cleared, the tent sprayed with eau-de-cologne, and the buffet laid out against the far wall. Gerald was wearing a Savile Row suit, Isabella wore an indigo-blue evening dress icy with Waterford crystal drops. Sabine, Pamela (in gentleman’s dress), Marie-Louise, Minou, Amelia and Alison were all at the bar. For this last party, the bar tent had been opened on one side and so had the Templar tent, so that the greensward enclosed between them was large enough for all the guests and available for dancing.