Death at Victoria Dock (16 page)

Authors: Kerry Greenwood

BOOK: Death at Victoria Dock

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‘But you were covered in blood!
I
was covered in blood!’ Phryne began to laugh, and sat down on the floor. ‘Peter, you fraud.’

‘The morgue were most surprised to find that I was still breathing, for a ricochet had cut my forehead and I bled like a pig—as you noticed, sweet Phryne—and I must have looked dead. I frightened one attendant so badly that he fainted. The hospital say that the damage is small. They wanted to keep me, but I would not stay.’

He gathered Phryne into his embrace and whispered, ‘They told me what you did. Two shots, and both to the heart. You have done a great thing for the Revolution.’

‘I didn’t do it for the bloody Revolution!’ exclaimed Phryne. ‘I did it because I thought that they had killed you. Reflex. I had my finger on the trigger and—I fired when they fired.’

‘In any case, the Revolution is served. Have some wine.’

Phryne poured herself a glass of champagne. The phonograph was wound by Jane and the tinny voices chanted.

‘It ain’t gonna rain no more, no more,

it ain’t gonna rain no more!

How in the heck can I wash my neck,

if it ain’t gonna rain no more?’

The whole world, Phryne thought, sipping her wine and light-headed with relief, had gone suddenly and irretrievably mad.

Then Phryne remembered something and exclaimed from her seat on the floor, where she was resting her head on Peter’s mistreated chest. ‘What about the Lewis? Hugh, we could have been ruined, if the Lewis hadn’t jammed. It was a miracle.’

Hugh beamed with honest pride and pulled Dot forward.

‘Here’s your miracle, Miss Fisher. Tell her, Dot!’

‘Me and Nina were locked up with the gun, and we couldn’t get out, so we had a look at it. We couldn’t just steal some bits because they’d notice when they come to put it together again. Then we looked at it some more and I noticed that there was this long bit of pipe which had a pin at the top, and you could see that it was meant to slide up and down to reload the gun and to throw out the bullet, and there it was, see, and I still had my handbag, which had a nailfile, to undo the screws, and there was this grindstone, and we thought that we might be able to damage it, or bend it, p’raps, but we couldn’t because it’s hard metal, so we…’

‘Filed it down? Dot, you’re a genius.’

‘I used to go shooting with my dad.’ Dot blushed at this unmaidenly skill. ‘I’ve seen guns before.’

‘Marvellous,’ commented Peter Smith.

Dot drew away, then said, ‘Miss, Hugh’s been in all the papers. His boss says that he’s in line for a medal.’

‘I told you so, Hugh.’

‘But it was all you, Miss! It ain’t fair!’

‘I don’t want to be in the papers, Dot. Let Hugh have his fame. He was very brave, anyway. I presume that he didn’t know that the Lewis wouldn’t fire?’

‘No, Miss, I forgot to tell him.’

‘Well, then, if any man deserves a medal, your Constable Hugh does.’

Phryne snuggled into Peter’s good arm and asked, ‘When are you going away?’

‘Tomorrow, with Nina and Bill.’

‘Sleep with me tonight, is it tonight?’

‘Yes, it’s early morning, now.’

‘Come up, then. We haven’t much time.’

***

Farewells occupied most of Phryne’s day. Nina had to be equipped for her journey. She collected her goods from the Fitzroy Street house. Maria Aliyena had gone. Phryne rummaged to some effect to find her clothes and goods to astonish the outback. Bill Cooper had a modest suitcase and Peter Smith had one bundle which contained all that he had managed to acquire in a lifetime’s wandering.

Jane and Ruth, protesting that school would seem awfully flat after the excitement, were sent back to school with a hamper of cakes and amazing stories that they could not tell. Jane ran back from the car.

‘Miss Phryne, Mary Tachell told me to tell you that she told her mother all about what was in Alicia’s diary. Goodbye,’ added Jane, kissing Phryne affectionately, and ran back to the car.

The harvest of this piece of news was gathered an hour later, when Dot and Phryne were dressing a giggling Nina in one of her new costumes, a pale yellow which had not suited Dot.

‘Mr. Waddington-Forsythe on the phone, Miss Fisher,’ intoned Mr. Butler, and Phryne bit her lip.

‘Miss Fisher? I have to thank you for finding my daughter. Now my son has run away, leaving a letter in which he makes the most outrageous accusations about my wife. Will you take the case?’

Phryne struggled for adequate words, failed to find any, and let the phone drop back onto the hook.

‘Mr. Butler, if that appalling man rings back, tell him I am not taking any cases at present. In future, Mr. Butler, I shall
never
be at home to Mr. Waddington-Forsythe!’

Mr. Butler picked up the telephone as it rang again and Phryne left him to it.

The Waddington-Forsythes were finished, socially. Mrs. Tachell could not possibly keep such juicy news to herself, thought Phryne, and returned to hook Nina into a green Chanel travelling dress while presiding over the destruction, in the garden incinerator, of her revolutionary garb.

They were at the door. Phryne took a deep breath, kissed Nina, shook hands with Bill Cooper. Then she turned to Peter, who was wearing the same shabby suit in which she had first seen him.

‘Peter, will you take nothing?’

‘Memories,’ he said softly. ‘I will remember you for all of my life.’

Without another word he walked down the steps and the others followed. They climbed into the big car and it pulled away into the traffic. They were gone, Phryne realized, shutting the door, all her visitors were gone. The house was empty, fine and cool; full of space.

She picked up the telephone and asked for a university college.

‘Lindsay?’

A young voice answered.

‘It’s Phryne. Come out tonight?’

The telephone made a quacking noise.

‘You can study Trusts some other time.’

The telephone seemed to agree. It asked a question.

‘What is up? I’ve come through fire and death, Lindsay, my old dear, and I want to go dancing.’