Queen of Flowers (33 page)

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Phryne. ‘I was hired to find Rose Weston.’

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‘And I reckon you did,’ sneered Simonds. ‘I met my little cousin Derek and he told me you had her here. After I belted him a bit. Snivelling brat.’

Simonds was, Phryne could see, desperate. Walker’s men were hunting him. The professor’s were aware of him. The Westons had refused to pay. This situation was very dangerous.

Much better to face a calm disciplined soldier, because he will only kill you if he has orders to kill you, than a sleepless madman with a sawn-off shotgun.

‘Now, now, Simonds, simmer down,’ said Robinson. ‘We ain’t told no one about you. We’re still looking for that girl.

And another one that’s gone missing. Do you know anything about that?’

Mongrel had sighted the bottles on the drinks tray and had stumbled across the room to them. He stank like the drain in which he had probably slept. He knocked the stopper out of a decanter and drank as if it was cordial. Phryne was pleased.

That was port. A good dose of that and Mongrel ought to be off to never-never land fairly smartly. But Mongrel was never the problem.

Simonds yelled, the gun barrel lashing wildly from side to side. ‘Get me that girl or I’ll shoot the lot of youse!’

If only no one comes in, thought Phryne. If only Rose doesn’t come out, or Lily Jackmann—no, Lily goes home at five. If only Jane doesn’t surface from all those books. He could kill me and Jack without moving. He’s got two barrels and they’re both loaded. Come on, brain, think.

‘How did the deal go wrong?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps we can do something about that.’

‘It’s that old bastard Weston,’ Simonds actually answered Phryne. ‘Tells me, be nice to the girl, take her out, show her a good time, then get her to go away with you and sell her to
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a brothel, make her a tart, she’ll be too ashamed to come home, no one will ever believe a word she says again, that’s what he says. Ten quid, he says. So I did it. I was nice to her, she followed me like a lamb when I said come with us.

Mongrel and me spend the two quid down-payment in the pub. I give her a mickey in case she cuts up rough. Then it all went wrong!’

His voice soared to a scream. ‘No one would buy the bitch!

No one! So what’s a man to do with a stray girl? She kept asking questions. Kept wanting to go home. Then she got loose. Mongrel caught her by the edge of the sea. I thought he’d killed her. Thought I’d better finish the job. Thought I had.

Then I go to the old bastard Weston and do you know what he said?’ Simonds advanced on Phryne, saliva flying from his jaws. ‘He says, no deal. He’s heard that she’s still alive. She can’t be, not with the belting Mongrel give her.’

‘Sounds like she’s a goner, all right,’ observed Robinson. His reward was a wild swerve of the gun and the tightening of the finger on the trigger. Then it moved back to Phryne. For one moment she looked death in the face. She had done so before.

The sensation did not improve on reacquaintance. ‘ ’ Tis not as deep as a well or as wide as a church door but ’tis enough, ’twill serve,’ as the dying Mercutio had said. Phryne stared into Simonds’ empty eyes. Then the gun swung away again.

Mongrel, having emptied his decanter, collapsed on the floor.

He gave a faint snore. He seemed harmless for the moment. But Simonds was working himself into a homicidal fury. Phryne backed away and got her fingers around the rim of a small table.

She exchanged a glance with Jack Robinson. Usually, throwing things was a good tactic with a gunman. But in this confined space anyone in the room was going to be shredded when that shotgun went off.

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Phryne spared a moment to wonder where Molly was. Had they killed her on the way in? It looked like her mistress would shortly be joining the poor puppy. Nothing ventured. She might at least die in her own defence. Then Simonds’ finger slipped and the barrel swung up.

One barrel fired. The house was shocked into silence. From the insulted ceiling, plaster fell like rain. Mongrel turned in his sleep. Simonds stepped closer to Phryne.

‘You give me the girl, now!’ he screamed.

‘Or what?’ asked Phryne. Close up, she could see the bitten lips, the crazed eyes of unbearable stress. The stench of his fear wrapped around her like a filthy garment.

‘I’ll kill—’

There was a soggy thud. With a look of unutterable surprise, Simonds slumped forward, and Phryne caught the shotgun as it fell from his hands.

Behind him, now revealed, stood Ruth, holding Mrs Butler’s long-handled heavy iron skillet and looking sheepish.

‘Er . . .’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I ran away.’

‘You’re forgiven,’ said Phryne, and sank down into her chair.

Miss Anna Ross to Mr James Murray

I believe you, Hamish. I wish it was not so. I will come to you
in the early morning.

Anna McCrimmon

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Thou hast not many miles to tread, nor other foes
than fleas to dread

James Elroy Flecker

‘Gates of Damascus’

Dot came home to find that things had clearly been happening in her absence.

There was plaster dust all over the small parlour, which Mr Butler was removing with his vacuum machine. In the blue parlour, Jane was hugging Ruth, yes, the prodigal Ruth, and Molly, all three entwined on the sofa and wolfing down a platter of leftovers which must have come from dinner. Phryne was pouring drinks with a liberal hand for James Murray, Detective Inspector Robinson, and herself. Rose Weston, wrapped in a red woollen dressing gown, was sitting in an armchair, smiling. Ember was not there and Dot was not surprised. It was no place for a decent cat. It reminded her of sermons she had heard on Babylonian orgies or the reason for the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

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‘Come in, Dot dear,’ called Phryne. ‘It’s all over. Ruth is home and Simonds and Mongrel are in jail—well, Mongrel is in jail and Simonds is in the Pentridge hospital with a very nasty bump on the head. Courtesy of Ruth.’

Mr Butler concluded his suctioning and admitted Bert and Cec. Bert grabbed Ruth and hugged her, and was heartily licked by Molly for his pains.

‘Little Ruthie!’ he said. ‘We been looking all over for you!

You all right?’

Ruth nodded and kissed Bert’s grizzled cheek.

‘And Simonds and Mongrel are in the Bluestone College,’

said Robinson with great satisfaction. ‘And if they ever get out again, I’ll be one very surprised policeman.’

‘Can’t have that,’ said Bert, accepting a beer.

‘Too right,’ said Cec, accepting a glass of raki.

‘So what happened?’ asked Bert. ‘Where had they been all this time?’

‘Sleeping rough,’ said Phryne. ‘Really rough. In the park rough. Leaves in the hair. Hungry, too. And very, very cross. Lord, Jack, I was so close to death tonight I could smell his breath.’

‘Me too,’ said Robinson. Mr Butler refilled his glass. He was profoundly thankful that all this had happened when he and Mrs B were blamelessly watching ‘Desert Song’.

‘What I don’t know is what you were all doing,’ said Phryne.

‘I was terrified that you might come out of your room, Rose.’

‘I didn’t do anything brave,’ said Rose. ‘I just put my blanket over my head and tried not to breathe. And hoped I’d die before Neville found me again.’

‘And I was hanging on to Molly so that she wouldn’t bark,’

said Jane. ‘I knew that you’d win, Miss Phryne, I didn’t see how I could help.’

‘And then just as I really did think that this was the end,
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and Jack and I were going to be splattered—well, never mind—

Ruth arrived and belted Simonds a very pretty two-handed blow which knocked him out for the count,’ said Phryne.

‘I came in through the kitchen door,’ said Ruth. ‘I thought I’d sneak in and ask Jane if—if you wanted me back. Then I saw that the door was open, and then I heard the voices. So I went back and got the skillet. I hit him as hard as I could. And then—Miss Phryne caught the gun so it didn’t go off when it hit the floor, and the place was full of policemen.’

‘I sent them to bring in Johnson and old man Weston,’ said Robinson. ‘They’re reopening that old fraud charge. As well as the others. And your mum is going to be rich, Miss Weston.

The old miser transferred all his property to her a couple of years ago.’

‘He never told her,’ said Rose, astonished.

‘He reckoned on getting it back, I suppose,’ said Phryne.

‘But, as it happens, he didn’t. Have you thought about what you want to do, Rose?’

‘I’d like to go back to school. I’ll be better at it this time around.’

‘They will have you back,’ said Phryne. ‘But the scandal will be immense. It won’t be pleasant.’

‘After what I’ve just been through,’ said Rose, ‘I can manage unpleasant.’

Phryne patted her with approval.

‘Then,’ Rose went on, ‘when all the money stuff is cleared up and Mum has sold that awful old house, she can buy a little one, and hire some help, and not have to deal with Grandpapa.

I might be able to go home. Perhaps. She’s not too bad, my mother. Grandpapa drove her demented, and no one’s been able to do anything with Elijah because Grandpa wouldn’t allow him to be disciplined.’

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‘Good,’ said Phryne. ‘You’ll be able to go back for final term. I’ll put my lawyer Jilly onto the financial stuff. She’s a shark. A nice shark, I mean. You’ll like her.’

‘Miss Fisher? Now that we are celebrating and all, can I have a glass of that champagne?’ asked Rose.

‘Of course,’ said Phryne. ‘Now, Ruth dear, I have to know.

Where have you been?’

‘I got away from Neil McLeod,’ said Ruth. ‘Well, I didn’t precisely get away. I was freed. He gave me a drink of water that tasted funny and I got very sleepy. Then I can sort of remember that someone cut my wrists and ankles free and told me to walk, so I walked, and then they put me down on a bed in a caravan and went away. A lot of time went past. A big dog licked me. I thought I could hear Mr Murray playing the violin.

Then I woke up properly and I was so ashamed. I had been fooled, really fooled. He wasn’t my father. It was a dream. And instead of looking at it carefully I had gone all high-flown and romantic and run away. I felt like such an idiot. I wanted to come home but I didn’t know if you’d want me back.’

‘Yes,’ said Phryne. ‘So where were you?’

‘With me,’ said Dulcie. She had come in through the as yet unclosed back door and looked as abashed as a woman who rides elephants can. ‘I overheard that snake McLeod talking about his little plot, and I thought, I can do myself a bit of good here, I am flat stony motherless broke and I have a big dog and three elephants to feed, so I’ll snatch this ransom when it arrives, but first I have to free the hostage. So I did that and left her in my caravan with Bounce while I went back for the money. But you were there, Phryne, and I didn’t have a chance. I knew that Ruth would take a while to wake up and I admit that I toyed with the idea of asking for another ransom, but you’re my friend, Phryne, I really couldn’t. So when the
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young woman woke I told her to go home and I’ve been telling her to go home ever since.’

‘She has,’ said Ruth. ‘She said you were looking for me all over the place and you really wanted me back.’

‘So I did,’ said Phryne. ‘So I do.’

‘Silly,’ said Jane, kicking Ruth with her free bare foot. ‘I told you so.’

‘Dulcie,’ said Phryne, taking a familiar envelope from her purse. ‘Have forty pounds. I’ve already spent some of the ransom. Thank you for keeping Ruth safe. It’s a loan, if you insist,’ she said. ‘Pay it back if you like.’

Dulcie clutched the envelope and mouthed ‘thank you’.

‘Now, we’d better all drink up and go to bed,’ said Phryne, swigging her brandy. ‘Because tomorrow I am going to be Queen of the Flowers.’

She went to bed, taking the brandy with her for the moments during the next week when she would see again the black maw of the shotgun swinging towards her, and smell the sweat of terror.

(Mrs) Dulcie Ross to (Mrs) Henrietta Walgett 15 January 1914

I am sending you my daughter Anna as per previous arrangements. Her husband is dead and the child, if it survives, will
need to be immediately adopted into a good family. I cannot
run a boarding house by myself. Please supply midwifery care
at your usual standard and return the girl as soon as possible.

Mrs Ross.

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CHAPTER TWENTY

So maids be loyal when your love’s at sea
For a cloudy morning brings in a sunny day.

Anon

‘The Dark-Eyed Sailor’

After the excitement of the night, it was soothing to sit on the floor of the blue parlour in the midst of the flower baskets and make nosegays for the flower maidens to throw. They were easy to make. Two sweet peas and a rosebud, a sprig of baby’s breath, a twist of the pink ribbon and a fat bow. Jane had done her fifty and Ruth had made seventy-three when James Murray came to help her. He was good at knots and the work went very well.

Jane was helping the flower maidens to dress. Jessica, Joannie and Marie were present, but Diane Pridham had not yet arrived.