The Castlemaine Murders (16 page)

‘Your grandfather was anxious to diversify,’ he told Lin. ‘Pass me another cup of wine, will you, nephew? He foresaw that trade with China might be interrupted and he wanted to make sure that we had a good stake in this country. After all, we are staying. We are Australians now. That’s why he bought the paper-making business here, and the vineyard in South Australia. He thought that it would be unwise to sell only luxuries, so we still have market gardens and a pig farm, not to mention the restaurants. Cousin Lin Po is running a poultry farm to supply them and we also get delicacies and flowers from Lin Tao in Castlemaine, only two hours by train. We use most of our own produce in the restaurants, which means that not only are we better, we are also cheaper, and we can grow our own sort of vegetables, straw mushrooms and Chinese greens, water chestnuts and marrows. Lin Tao has high hopes of lychees soon. We also sell lotus flowers to the flower market. They grow on the fish ponds. Which we also sell. Trout, as it happens, and fancy goldfish. If the fancy goldfish don’t sell we let them grow into carp and eat them.’

‘What about a drought?’ asked Lin Chung, fascinated. ‘That would wipe out the crops. What do we sell then?’

‘Unlikely,’ said Uncle Lin. ‘All of our gardens are on large rivers. If the Maribyrnong dries up our trouble will be as nothing to the trouble of the rest of Melbourne. The pigs and the poultry are all close to the market gardens—’

‘For the manure,’ said Lin, who was getting the idea.

‘And to share transport to market. If we lose our agricultural production through some disaster—it would have to be the State deciding to take them away, something major like that—we still have wine and paper, we still have silk, we still have restaurants and we still have fan-tan and the lottery.’

‘Which are illegal,’ said Lin, to get a rise out of Uncle.

‘Not at present.’

‘Only because there are no Chinese policemen.’

‘And may the Gracious Lady Kwan Yin protect us from there ever being any. While the games are played with beans and only cashed later, no one can prove that fan-tan is an illegal gambling game. And we get ten per cent. The more terrible the times, the more people gamble. Gambling gives them hope.’

‘Even so . . .’ Lin did not know how he felt about being a gambler. His uncle laughed and poured another cup of wine for both of them.

‘You like this? South Australian and in a few years it will be almost drinkable. Look at it this way, scrupulous one. Men will gamble. We do not cheat them. If they win they can collect their winnings and there will not be a couple of people outside to relieve them of their so-heavy wallets and beat them to a pulp if they protest. We run an honest game. If we are not there—if young Lin Chung decides he is too moral to be concerned in such trade—then who will run it? Criminals,’ said Uncle, banging down the empty cup. ‘There are no people with one long fingernail and strange tattoos concerned in gambling in our establishments. But if the space is empty, it will be filled. Heaven does not allow empty spaces.’

‘Very well, Uncle,’ said Lin. ‘I bow to your wisdom.’

‘Good thing too. What is the use of wisdom if it is not bowed to?’ Lin Chung filled the cup again. He wondered why Uncle did not just get a large glass, or a pint pot.

‘So, from the beginning, our wise ancestors decided that we should do many different things. We have to avoid being noticed: it is not good to dominate any market, or there will be envy. Heaven also does not look favourably on any man growing too great. You will be expected to advise of new opportunities and other markets which your inherited business sense will undoubtedly lead you towards.’

‘I have always thought that there is a lot to be done in the making of garments,’ said Lin Chung. ‘It is always better to have a dress that one could sell at fifty guineas rather than a length of silk to be bought for ten.’

‘Very risky, women’s clothes.’

‘I was thinking of undergarments,’ said Lin reminiscently. ‘Chemises, knickers. Pyjamas. They are not very susceptible to fashionable changes.’

‘Ah,’ sighed Uncle, clearly thinking of the same thing. He shook himself. ‘Yes, possibly, but they would have to be at the very top end of the price range to be worth making, and those women prefer to have their clothes made by hand and to measure.’

‘So they do,’ agreed Lin, recalling how stockings rolled down Phryne’s admirable legs, to be followed by a slither of knickers, and underneath . . .

Uncle rapped him smartly over the knuckles with an empty wine cup.

‘Pay attention, nephew. To continue. There are no great holdings in shares in other companies. Most of our capital is in business or in land. We own several office buildings in the city, which are leased through an agent. The holdings are all here and you may take away the list and study it. Have some more wine. You are going to Castlemaine?’

‘Yes, tomorrow.’

‘Have a care. You can forget, in the city, especially in Little Bourke Street, how few Chinese there are in the outer world. There are very few in Castlemaine, though once there were thousands of us. You will be a curiosity in the town unless you have a suitable disguise.’

‘A disguise, Uncle?’ Lin Chung was taken aback.

‘You want to make enquiries, you want to ask questions of people who believe that touching a Chinaman will give them jaundice,’ said Uncle Lin placidly. ‘There is only one proper disguise which will make you acceptable. I have arranged for it to be found—once I wore it myself—and here is our cousin with the garments. They are badly made but we have time to tailor them properly.’

Lin was worried. His uncle was not smiling.

‘Do I really need a disguise, Uncle? You are not joking?’

‘I never joke. And when I do, you will know, because you will laugh,’ said Uncle Lin. ‘Here you are. Try it on. Good. Your cousin will make the alterations. In that garment they will not like you, but they will not harm you and they might even talk to you. Are you taking your Shaolin with you?’

‘No, he is keeping Miss Fisher’s house safe. Something very odd is happening there.’

‘If it happens when Li Pen is on watch it will be sorry,’ chuckled Uncle. ‘Probably better. He would certainly object to accompanying you, dressed like that.’

Li Pen turned in front of the mirror as his cousin applied pins. The collar was tight and uncomfortable and he wasn’t at all sure that he could carry this off. What, after all, did Lin Chung know about being an Anglican clergyman?

He drank another cup of wine to take the taste out of his mouth and tried to remember where he had left his school copy of
Hymns Ancient and Modern
.

In the thirteenth year of the reign of the glorious Emperor Lord of
the Dragon Throne Kwong Sui of the Ching Dynasty, 20th of
April in the solar year 1855.

The elder brother Sung Ma sends greetings to his little sister Sung
Mai. In this strange place the seasons are upside down. When I left
home it was nearly spring, here it is nearly autumn to judge by the
way the poplar trees are shedding their leaves. I must assume that
this season is Stopping of Heat. We reached the goldfields after four
days. The landscape has been ruined by all the holes dug by miners
and the water and fire lines are completely disturbed. No wonder
the place feels so disharmonious. The earth dragons must be very
angry. The weather begins to be cold but the air tastes crisp, like
a bite of Hami watermelon. Here with this letter I send my first
gold to be given to you, little Mai, and your sister Lan, as a dowry.
You must keep it safe. Tell Uncle that his unworthy nephew has
provided it for you both and that he should find you good
husbands. I am sending it by a trustworthy man, Chang Li, who
lives near us and whom I have known since we were children. He
has made his fortune and is going home. May I soon do likewise!

It is twenty ounces of alluvial gold and I dug it up while
I was clearing a place for my tent. Mr Lin allowed me to keep it
when I told him that it was your dowry. I have been caring for
those who have developed water-on-the-chest, which I believe is
caused by lack of fresh fruit or greens in the diet. I have prescribed
us all as much fruit as we can buy in Bendigo and Mr Lin has
sent the cart.

This is a rich place but there is much misery and filth and
when the cold comes it will be worse. But soon we will be gone,
I hope, if the fates are merciful to us.

The loving elder brother bids his little sister farewell and good
fortune.

CHAPTER NINE

Late at twilight I passed the verdant hills
And the mountain moon followed me home.

Li Po, translated by Lin Yutang

It was morning. Breakfasted, Phryne was packing. In actual fact, she had thrown a load of clothes onto her bed and was considering what she might need when Dot came in, wearing a beige dress patterned with terracotta nasturtiums, and a worried expression.

‘Miss? Let me do that. How long are you going to be away?’

‘I don’t know. Say a week.’ Phryne sighed with relief and sat down to watch Dot sort, fold and pack the clothes. Anything Phryne folded instantly developed extra creases. Anything Dot touched flung itself into a perfect package and threw itself into the suitcase. ‘Not the good underwear, it may have to be washed locally and local laundries are hell on silk. Two light suits, I think, and one evening dress, cocktail length. The Mayor may invite me to dinner. Or not, of course, but it is a good idea to be prepared. Paste or theatrical jewellery, I do not want to worry about it. Plus the male disguise and some cosmetics. And my gun. They play a little rough in the country, Dot, all those big strong men with shotguns and rustic ideas of humour. I don’t know what this may entail.’

‘I wish you were taking me! Or at least Mr Bert and Mr Cec, or Li Pen!’ wailed Dot. She didn’t like guns. Phryne’s neat little pearl-handled Beretta was both strangely fascinating and horribly repulsive, like a gaily patterned coral snake.

‘Bert and Cec are busy with their taxi, and in any case they seem very urban. Though I might be doing them a disservice. I will consult them, Dot, if you like. It never hurts to have a reserve, as the Duke of Wellington would say. And Li Pen is here to protect you and the girls and the Butlers and Eliza. If anyone tries anything with Li Pen around they will be puréed faster than you can say knife, otherwise I would not be leaving you. I don’t want any more incidents and Mr Butler is to open all mail in the garden, is that clear? And don’t tell anyone where I have gone.’

‘Of course not, Miss Phryne,’ said Dot, shocked.

‘Miss Eliza may be better company than we thought, Dot dear. She has told me one of her dreadful secrets. She is a Fabian socialist.’

‘Ah?’ asked Dot, sorting stockings. ‘Like Mr Bert and Mr Cec?’

‘Precisely my response. My father seems to have split a gusset and flung her from the house, pausing only to watch her bounce and stating that until she recovered her senses and came back willing to marry either a brute of a boy or a very nasty old man, she was no longer his daughter.’

‘It sounds like the plot of one of Miss Ruth’s romances,’ observed Dot, flicking a nightdress and dropping it back into perfect folds. She laid a sheet of newspaper over it which bore a plea for the relatives of Amelia Gascoigne to contact the paper, where they would learn something to their advantage. It seemed to be everywhere, thought Dot.

‘I know. Father has always been the complete Victorian Paterfamilias and now he has the scope to conduct the whole blood-tub melodrama. Why do you think I moved to Australia? As far as one can get in the civilised world from Berkeley Square, W1 where the old grump resides when in London. And I was tossing up about a move to Easter Island.’

‘You wouldn’t have liked it there,’ said Dot placidly.

‘I know. But it does have a lot of granite heads and I was thinking of dropping one on Father. The brute of a man, he’s had poor Beth cowed since she was a child, and he must have got such a shock when she wouldn’t agree to marry either of his chosen ones. Which brings me to the point of all this gossip. Roderick, only heir to the Duke of Dunstable, is here. Eliza saw him at Luna Park and got the shock of her life. He’s been threatening abduction and rape and she’s frightened of him.’

‘He being the brute of a boy?’asked Dot.

‘Illiterate but nonetheless nasty,’ agreed Phryne.

‘He’ll be sorry if he tries conclusions with Mr Li,’ said Dot.

‘Exactly my view. But just in case, I thought I’d warn you. Eliza can tell you what the little bounder looks like. Bash him with a skillet if he causes any trouble and bury the body under the hydrangeas.’

‘We haven’t got any hydrangeas,’ objected Dot.

‘Ask Camellia for some. I’m going to ring Bert. Back soon,’ said Phryne, and breezed off. She looked in again. ‘Put in a hundred cigs and fill my flask with the Armagnac, will you?’ she added.

Dot kept folding. Just a little peace and quiet, she thought, and with Mr Li to stand guard and no Phryne, Dot might just get on with her trousseau nightdress.