Razorhurst (36 page)

Kelpie held Dymphna’s hand so tight Dymphna had to resist pulling away. Kelpie’s head was down, her eyes staring at the floor. Much better than making eye contact with the ghosts. As soon as they were alone, Dymphna would start teaching Kelpie how to not see them. Finally let her know she wasn’t the only one. She cursed Jimmy for dogging her every step since she’d found Kelpie so that she couldn’t tell Kelpie without letting him know she could see him. For now all she could do to help was let Kelpie bruise her hand.

The waiters were arranging champagne glasses in a tower. Dymphna had seen it done in a talkie: the champagne was poured from the top and cascaded down like a waterfall to fill all the glasses. Yellow and sparkling. It would match the necklace glittering over Glory’s large bosom.

One day, Dymphna was going to have enough money to have tricks like that at her own parties. She wouldn’t be holding them in
a terrace house in the Hills; her parties would be in a mansion in Elizabeth Bay or perhaps even Vaucluse.

Her waiters would not be as nervous as this lot: rough young men who had waited about as often as Dymphna had sailed around the harbour on a yacht. One of Glory’s wee boys was sweeping up the shattered remains of one of the waiters’ mishaps. Dymphna wondered how many champagne glasses had been lost already.

Dymphna coughed. “Glory?”

Glory turned and her eyes narrowed. She stepped forward and put her hands, gently, against Dymphna’s jaw and neck. Dymphna could see the green, brown, gold, and black striation that made up Glory’s irises, the tiny red veins that threaded her whites. There was a smudge of red lipstick on one of her front teeth.

Glory’s hands slid down from Dymphna’s jaw to encircle her throat. Dymphna concentrated on not swallowing, on not letting Glory know how afraid she was, though Glory could likely feel the quickening of her pulse.

Glory’s fingers squeezed tighter. Dymphna fought a desire to cough, but not to run. She looked into Glory’s eyes and told herself that Glory would not do this, not here, not in front of so many witnesses. She repeated it to herself over and over.

Glory’s hands pressed tighter. Dymphna felt pressure build around her eyes, tiny dots starting to appear. Her head began to hurt. The desire to cough became stronger. She was Glory’s best girl. Glory would not kill her. Not here. Not with this many people watching. Would she?

More dots, crowding together and blurring Dymphna’s vision. All she could see now was Glory’s eyes, though somehow they had turned black.

Then the pressure eased from her throat. She could see Glory’s face change to milk and honey and kindness.

“You look gorgeous, my love!”

“So do you, Glory.” Dymphna’s voice was a little raspy, but she was startled it worked at all, that she had managed to keep from coughing, from rubbing her throat. “Those diamonds! They’re like a river.”

Kelpie’s hand was still holding hers, still squeezing her fingers almost as tight as Glory had squeezed her throat. Kelpie was breathing fast with her head held low. The gratitude she felt to Kelpie right then for not screaming, for not trying to hurt Glory—there weren’t words.

They could have both been dead.

Glory adjusted the diamonds on her bosom with her now–mottled pink hands. Dymphna wondered if her own throat was as pink.

“Cost a fortune, these did. Bought ’em for meself. You don’t think Big Bill ever gave me anything this fine? If he had, he woulda bought it with me own money.” Glory laughed. “So glad he’s done with. This is going to be my best party yet. Towers of champagne, those are going to be.”

“Wonderful,” Dymphna breathed.

Her leg was shaking again. If she wasn’t strong, Kelpie could fall apart under the weight of all these ghosts. She breathed deeply and put her hands on Kelpie’s shoulders, hoping that would still her own body’s reaction. She was Glory’s best girl.

She could still feel where Glory’s fingers had pressed at her throat.

“Someone take Dymphna’s coat.”

One of the waiters, still clutching champagne glasses, turned to do Glory’s bidding.

Dymphna pulled her coat tighter around her. She was not taking it and all that money off, no matter what Glory said. “Not right now, thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I’m still feeling a little chilled.”

“I hear things have been rough since I saw you earlier, my love.”

“Yes, Glory.”

“My poor Bluey, eh? Lucky to be alive.”

Dymphna murmured something that she hoped sounded sympathetic.

“Come through and you can tell me about it.” Glory put her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Connie!”

Connie came running from the kitchen. Her hair was a mess, and she was wearing an apron. She gave Dymphna a little half wave.

“I’ll be upstairs having a little natter. Make sure the bubbly is done right and those little hors d’oeuvres”—Glory made it sound like
whores doovres
—“are ready to go. Give us a shout if we’re not back down at sunset. Right-o?”

“Yes, Glory. See you later, Dymphna.”

“Oh, and, Connie. Make sure you’re cleaned up for when the important guests get here. Your face all painted and nice. Got that?”

“Of course, Gloriana.”

Dymphna followed Glory to
the stairs. Kelpie’s hand trembled in hers. Dymphna squeezed it and stroked the girl’s hair briefly, hoping that it would give Kelpie strength. “It will be all right,” she told her softly.

“’Course it will, my lovelies.” Glory looked at her watch. “There’s enough time. You can come too, little doggie.” Kelpie scowled and Glory laughed. “I do like you, puppy. I really do.”

Dymphna had never been upstairs before. As far as she knew, Glory didn’t invite anyone up there. Except for Big Bill, and his invitation had long been rescinded. Dymphna’s hope that there would be fewer ghosts dissipated as they climbed. She focused on Glory’s green and gold back and her words. She was not going to flinch, or shudder, or move out of their path, no matter how many there were or how awful they made her feel. She pulled Kelpie closer. The girl was shaking. Oddly enough, that seemed to drive the tremors from her own body.

Glory led them into what could have been an elegant sitting room. Two large windows opened onto the ample backyard. The ceiling was high. The floorboards did not squeak or groan as they walked in. The settees were large, as were the lounge chairs.

Both matched Glory’s gaudy dress, upholstered in green velvet with gold tassels. The wall was papered in a velvet wallpaper of gold and a red as brilliant as Glory’s hair. The room was more showy than any of Glory’s brothels.

Dymphna felt like she had stepped inside a gilded womb. Under any other circumstances, she would be anticipating describing it to Lettie later. But today, well …

Glory gestured to the closest settee. Dymphna sank onto it, and Kelpie sat beside her, her legs too short to touch the floor.

There were too many ghosts, more than downstairs.

Dymphna wasn’t sure that Kelpie could endure it. She’d refused to go anywhere near Central Station, which was not as hideously packed with them as this much smaller space.

Central Station was built on an old cemetery, one of the oldest in the city, but Dymphna was fairly certain that wasn’t why it was like that. She’d been to other cemeteries. None were as thronged with ghosts. The ghosts at Central were like the ones here, grey and meshing together, losing their solidity, losing, too, what Jimmy Palmer still had: humanity.

Only a few bore any resemblance to the living person they’d once been.

Dymphna had a theory for both Central Station and Glory’s house. Violence. A massacre. A fire. Something that killed many. All becoming ghosts at once, jumbling together and, she was fairly sure, calling out to other dead to join them.

She’d passed in and out of Central Station many times since she was a child and seen how slowly more ghosts accreted.

It was the same at Glory’s house.

Dymphna did not want to think about what had happened here. But she didn’t think it had happened under Gloriana Nelson’s rule. She may have added ghosts, but the initial terrible thing must have happened a long time ago.

“Not happy about that copper. Bluey had no business doing that. I told him no bodies. There’s nothing worse for business than dead coppers.”

“Bluey’s a bit hard to control, Glory.”

Glory smiled. “At least we got rid of the body. What a bother that was. I’ve had words with Bluey. Stern words.”

Dymphna didn’t doubt it. She took a deep breath. “Big Bill tried to grab me.”

Glory’s face tightened. Dymphna realised that she looked tired. Glory rarely looked tired. She was the one who drank and laughed and kept the party going and was still at it as the sun came up.

“Cait was working with him.”

“Never trusted that girl. Even for a chromo.” Now was not the time to point out that Dymphna was also a chromo or that back in the day Glory had been one too.

“Dazzle might be a thief, but she’s loyal. Cait would sell you out as soon as look at you. Trust her and Big Bill to be together. Like finds like.”

“He was going to—”

Glory smacked her hands together. “It’s beyond all get out. I knew he was no good—but this? And on the very day I celebrate being shot of the bastard forever! I could kill him.”

Dymphna hoped she would.

“Go on then. What did the bastard say?”

“He was going to take me to Mr. Davidson. To spite you. I think it might have been Bill who killed Jimmy.” Dymphna was improvising.
This
was how to get Snowy out of Glory’s sights. Perhaps Kelpie was right. Why would Snowy hand them over to Big Bill when he’d already put himself to so much trouble to make sure they were safe? She wouldn’t wager much on Snowy doing too much more for her, but there was no mistaking his concern for Kelpie. “Perhaps to prove to Davidson he isn’t yours anymore?”

“The nerve.”

“Perhaps that’s why Big Bill didn’t contest the divorce? He was already planning a different kind of revenge.”

“Planning? He’s not much of a planner. Someone smarter must have put him up to it. Though someone smarter would have left well enough alone.”

“I think Snowy’s jack of working for Mr. Davidson. That man’s too crooked, too twisty. I think Snowy’s ready to switch to a fair-dealing boss. Like yourself.”

“Been doing a lot of thinking, haven’t you, Dymph?”

Dymphna wasn’t sure about Glory’s tone, but she ventured on. “There’s a lot to think about.”

“You know what thought did, don’t you?” Glory chuckled. “I hear Snowy helped you move Bluey’s body into the doctor’s. That was good of him. Mind you, I also heard Snowy knocked Bluey out first. Less good of him, that—coshing my strongest man.”

“Bluey was trying to kill Neal. Snowy stepped in.”

“
Neal
, is it?” Glory said. “I heard
Neal
attacked my Bluey first. Bluey’s doing a lot better, you’ll be pleased to hear. Said he’ll join us here later.” She didn’t wait for Dymphna to respond. “So why’d your
Neal
Darcy attack Bluey?”

Kelpie shifted herself closer to Dymphna; she was almost burrowing into her side.

“He didn’t. Bluey went after him.”

Glory nodded. Clearly, Dymphna was not the only one to tell the tale that way.

“Why’d the copper shoot him, then? It wasn’t to save that Darcy’s life? Because that’s what I’m being told. Apparently your
Neal
Darcy is in thick with the coppers.”

Dymphna didn’t pause, didn’t breathe deep, didn’t give Glory any indication that this was important to her. “Well, whoever’s keeping you informed is blind as a bat. Bluey went after Darcy, and then the copper pulled the gun on both of them. Screamed at all of us to stay put.”

“The copper just showed up? Handy, that.”

“The copper lived on the lane with his mum. He heard the fight and came out to put a stop to it.”

“Then what was Neal Darcy doing there? He’s a Hills boy, ain’t he?”

Dymphna let herself blush.

“Got a crush has he? Following you about? Well, he isn’t the first, and he won’t be the last. He should join the bloody queue! He can step in right behind bloody Mr. Davidson.”

Dymphna managed a laugh.

“Was like that with me, you know. Back in the day. Not that you’d credit it now.”

“You’re still a handsome woman, Glory,” Dymphna said, because it was true.

“Aye, I am. But it ain’t the same. Takes a while to get used to that. You’ll find out. I
hope
you’ll find out. So you don’t want me to kill this Neal Darcy?”

Dymphna shook her head, hoping she seemed calm. Next to her, Kelpie froze, and she prayed the girl would say nothing. Dymphna could barely trust herself to speak. Neal was a kid. He had little idea of the mess he’d become involved in. He wrote stories. He’d been away shearing once. He was kind to Kelpie. He didn’t deserve to die because he’d stumbled into Dymphna’s world.

What would become of Mrs. Darcy and the younger ones if Glory killed Neal? It was going to be hard enough to keep Bluey from going after him. One crack to Neal’s eye was not going to be enough to appease Bluey’s bloodlust.

“Is he interested in this line of work? I wouldn’t’ve pegged him for the type. Works at the brewery, doesn’t he? Supporting the whole family ’cause the da ran off. Bloody men. He’s a good boy from what I’m told, that Neal Darcy.”

“Yes.”

Dymphna wasn’t surprised Glory knew so much. She liked to know about everyone in her empire. Even those, like Mrs. Darcy, who wouldn’t give her the time of day if it was a choice between that or setting their own hair on fire. Didn’t matter. Glory still needed to know her name, those of her children, how long her man had been away. Where her oldest boy worked. What brand of cigarette he smoked too. If he did. Most of the Hills were more roll-your-own fellas. Ready-made cigarettes were expensive.

It was something else that set Glory apart from Mr. Davidson. Rumour had it he didn’t even know the names of half his own men. He might pay for their funerals, but unlike Glory, he rarely attended them.

Funeral
.

She hadn’t given a thought to Jimmy’s funeral. She had no idea if he had living parents and, if he did, whether they had been told. She looked at her watch. Not even five yet. Jimmy hadn’t been dead a whole day.