Away With The Fairies (19 page)

Buddha only knows what she is going through now, thought Phryne as she knocked at the massive warehouse doors which enclosed the Lin mansion, like a wrinkled plum contains a nut, or a mussel shell its owner.

She was expected. The little door in the big ones opened and she stepped inside.

Out of the heat and glare into cool shade scented with gardenias. The Lin household lived in compounds contained within these sheet iron walls. It was ceaselessly patrolled. No burglar would have lived through his first ‘Strewth!’, assuming that he could be heard over the baying of the guard dogs.

Two of the uniformed men fell in on either side of Phryne and led her through deep shade, under an arch, and up several stairs into the main house. Carved, red lacquered doors opened. Frightened faces were glimpsed as she passed several rooms hung with different silks: aquamarine, copper, the yellow gold of the emperor, the green of emerald, the rich red of wine, garnet or blood.

The guards conducted her into a small room. It was hung in azure and white, embroidered with phoenixes. Gauzy curtains were drawn back to reveal a richly green, scented garden. There were two carved blackwood chairs set on either side of a small table which bore only one ornament. It was a celadon pot of orchids as white as jade.

Madame Lin was standing as she came in. Phryne held out the satchel. A guard took it and placed the paper bag on the table. The orchids were heavily scented. Phryne felt almost dizzy.

‘If you will sit?’ asked Madame Lin in her quiet, cultured voice. Almost, but not quite, a perfect Occidental accent—she still stressed incorrectly, so that her speech was subtly, fundamentally, off-key. She was a gaunt woman no taller than Phryne. Her dress was Eastern, perhaps to emphasise the distance between the Chinese lady and the Western one. It was of the finest silk—in fact Phryne had never seen silk so glossy— but it was unfigured and the cut plain. It was white. She wore no jewellery. Her snowy hair was dressed in a smooth chignon held by invisible pins.

‘You have something for me,’ she said. Phryne indicated the bag. Madame Lin unfolded the top. The absence of conversational openings was very significant. Madame Lin was worried enough to appear discourteous, even though she was dealing with a
gangin
, a foreign devil.

Phryne was watching her as she turned the jar around and caught sight of what it contained. She gave a small gasp, instantly contained. So, Madame had not been expecting this. Then she examined the letter and the envelope. Such loss of composure as there had been was repaired by the time she spoke again.

‘On the outside, it is merely a message to the carrier to pass the letter on, because it is of importance to the Lin family and they will pay well for it. But it is addressed to you. Why is that so, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. He says he fears that you will not pay what these pirates want. Perhaps he thought that I might pay it.’

‘That is something you cannot do,’ said Madame Lin. ‘What they want is something only the Lin family can give.’

‘And will they give it?’

‘Is that for you to know?’

‘Madame, this letter was sent to me,’ said Phryne. ‘As far as I knew, Lin Chung was in China on a silk-buying trip. Now I am told that there have been negotiations to set him free. How long have you known that he is captive, who’s got him, and why? And did no one owe me the courtesy of telling me? I have abided by the deal I struck with you, Madame. That I would not take Lin away from his family, that I would give him back when you needed him to marry. That gives us a contractual relationship, at least.’

‘You are correct,’ said Madame. Phryne almost fell off her chair. ‘It was a grave discourtesy not to inform you. But we received the demand, we transmitted a reply to our agents in Hong Kong, and we thought all would be well. It may still be well.’

‘But you don’t think so,’ offered Phryne.

‘He is my grandson. My heart misgives me. I am in mourning, as you observe, in a superstitious attempt to distract the demons who are bedevilling us. If they think that he is already dead they may take their eye off him.’

The door behind Phryne opened a crack. A quiet voice was insisting and the guard was asking Madame a question.

‘Very well, if he must,’ said Madame. She took a white handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. They were wet. Phryne was suddenly cold, as if she had been plunged into iced water. Madame Lin was crying. That formidable dragon was weeping. Things were terrible. They would almost certainly not be well.

‘Silver Lady,’ said a voice, and Phryne found a man kneeling at her feet. His hands were clasped together. His sleeves fell back to reveal a dragon brand on the inside of both forearms. She had only seen that once before. A Shao Lin monk from the temple of Confucius. There couldn’t be more than one in Melbourne.

‘Li Pen!’ she exclaimed. ‘You left Lin?’

His face turned to her. He had been beaten, badly, over a long time. Even now his bruises were yellow and he had stitches in a cut across one cheekbone.

‘They made me their messenger,’ he said. Lin had clearly kept up his bodyguard’s English lessons. His voice was stilted but perfectly accented. In fact he sounded like Lin Chung, and Phryne had to suppress a sob which rose unbidden from some depth.

‘Otherwise I would not have left him, even in death.’

‘And you came home and showed Madame the message?

How long did it take you to get here from the South China Sea?’

‘A week. When I came to Hong Kong, I chartered a plane and came as fast as I could. But I could not lose the message.’

He opened his shirt and showed Phryne several characters cut into the smooth muscle of his chest. They had scabbed over and were healing. Li Pen was strong.

‘They say, “Lin family lands”,’ said Madame. ‘I cannot give them on my own. I have called a family council. The cousins will be here tomorrow. Our lands in China are worthless now. War and famine rage over the country. Most of our people are dead or fleeing. I will attempt to prevail over the council. But they may argue that land, once lost, cannot be regained, and the life of my heir is not worth the loss.’

‘Li Pen, how is he? Will they kill him?’ asked Phryne urgently. Li Pen took her hand. His touch was extraordinarily alive.

‘Not unless the negotiations fail. He is safe while they are still talking. This letter and this offering are just … an inducement to speed. If he was given a chance to write, Silver Lady, he would write to you. You do not understand about pirates.’

‘No, but I will. Madame, send Li Pen to tell me how these negotiations go. I will always be at home to him. Will you allow this?’

‘Yes,’ Madame bowed her head.

‘If there is anything I can do—anything—send for me. Madame,’ Phryne rose and bowed slightly. Madame echoed the gesture.

Li Pen escorted Phryne out of the house and into the street. At the door she paused.

‘Come anyway,’ she whispered. ‘I wish to talk to you.’

Li Pen bowed.

Phryne walked back to the Adventuresses the long way, to give herself time to adjust. She felt that she had just visited a very alien, very cold, very dangerous world. It had mutilated Li Pen and eaten up Lin Chung and, from Melbourne, there didn’t seem to be a lot she could do about it. In fact there was nothing anyone could do until the Lin family made up their minds to pay the ransom. Phryne was not going to think about what would happen if they didn’t pay it. Anyone strong and numerous enough to carve characters into Li Pen was not going to let Lin Chung go with a ‘So sorry’.

She was thinking furiously. Two lots of pirates. That is what Madame had implied. Lin Chung had first been taken by one lot, who had demanded money which Madame had paid. Then he had been captured again by a second lot, who wanted the Lin family lands. They were the ones who had cut off his ear and recorded their demands, in fine calligraphy, on the living manuscript of Li Pen’s chest. This was an insult which ought to be expunged in blood, and would be, if Li Pen ever got his hands on whoever had done it.

Phryne became aware of a Chinese man dogging her footsteps. He was dodging through the crowd, getting closer. If he laid a hand on her, she vowed, if he even thought a single assailant’s thought, she was going to do something permanent to him.

He was now beside her, another of those anonymous serfs in blue, so ubiquitous in Little Bourke Street that no one noticed them. Without turning his head he said, ‘It would be safer to leave Lin family matters alone.’

‘Probably,’ said Phryne.

‘Shall I tell my master that you will do so?’

‘If you like,’ said Phryne.

She had slowed her pace, and right at the mouth of an alley she lunged and forced him out of the stream of foot traffic. He came up shocked with his back against a wall. A tigress was confronting him, baring her teeth.

‘Who sent you?’ she demanded, one heel grinding into his instep, one fist pulling his shirt collar chokingly tight around his throat.

‘I can’t tell you,’ he whispered.

‘You can,’ she informed him. His eyes bulged. Phryne only relaxed her grip when he was about to pass out. It would require more time and more privacy to get any information out of this loyal servant, and the alley was hardly the place. She was already attracting attention from the passing trade.

‘All right, you can’t. Tell your master to stop these attacks on me or the next attacker will be taking his testicles home in a paper bag,’ she snarled. Then she shoved the man so that he stumbled, unable to grab her. He exited the alley at speed and vanished into a side street.

Phryne shook herself into order, reseated her hat, and walked on.

The Adventuresses Club luncheon had improved. Crayfish, sole meunière and filet bordelaise were on the menu. Phryne ordered a lavish meal: bouillon, lobster mayonnaise with salad and an iced orange pudding. The installation of a larger icechest had obviously been a good investment. She was toying with Camembert and water biscuits with a strong fragrant coffee when Bunji Ross seated herself at the table and helped herself to a biscuit.

‘Bunji dear!’ exclaimed Phryne. ‘Just the person.’

‘Kate told me you were looking for me,’ said Bunji. ‘You know, this cheese is all runny.’

‘It’s supposed to be. Bring Miss Bunji some mousetrap and some more biscuits, will you?’ asked Phryne of the waitress. ‘It’s about Lin Chung.’

‘Your beautiful Chinese chap? What about him?’

‘Pirates,’ said Phryne.

Bunji looked grave. Her round, cheerful face lost its cheer. ‘Gosh, Phryne, that’s bad. Nasty people, pirates. Where?’

‘Bias Island, South China Sea,’ said Phryne, abruptly losing her appetite.

‘Done a bit of flying around there,’ said Bunji. ‘Could probably get you there. Couple of days. Faster if we can risk flying at night. But it’s a bit tricky, Phryne, old thing. Nowhere to land except bang on a nest of pirates. And Miss Jane—you know, the missionary, she’s just finished her book on Sarawak butterflies—she told me that the Dyaks attack anything smaller than a liner and just kill everyone and steal the ship. Rajah Brooke wiped them out in the nineteenth century, but they’re back now that China’s gone boom. Nervous part of the world. Nothing much you can do on your own. Might be better to go to Honkers and see what the navy can do.’

‘Unfortunately, Bunji, that’s the conclusion I had come to,’ confessed Phryne.

‘Still, far be it from me to stop a pal who wants to break her neck in a good cause,’ said Bunji, halving a biscuit with a snap. ‘If you want to fly, Phryne, I’m your flyer.’

‘Thank you, Bunji,’ said Phryne. ‘But much as I am dying to do something, I’d better get on with finding out who murdered an old lady who liked secrets. That, at least, will give me something to occupy my time.’

‘Do tell,’ said Bunji, agog.

Phryne told. Bunji summed up.

‘So you’ve got three groups of suspects. The ladies of the magazine. The people of the house. And the writers of the furious letters.’

‘That’s about it. A huge cast which has to be narrowed down or I’ll never get anywhere. And of course there are some overlaps. Miss Grigg and Miss Gallagher, Mrs Opie and Mr Bell are all co-tenants with Miss Lavender, as well as working at
Women’s Choice.
Some of the letter-writers may be co-tenants as well.’

‘Good luck, then,’ said Bunji, mopping up the last crumb of cheese. ‘I’ll be around for a couple of weeks before we start the ferry service over the Tasman. Call me if you need me,’ she said, and went away.

Phryne stayed, thinking about the odd web of relationships around the dead woman. Who had Miss Lavender been, anyway?

CHAPTER TWELVE

In the fifth line, undivided, we see the dragon on
the wing in the sky. It will be advantageous to
meet with the great man.

Hexagram 1: Khien
The I Ching Book of Changes

Dot paused with her hand on the iron gate, gathering courage. This was a nice house in a nice street. The sloping lawn was immaculate. The bright beds of pansies and sweet william were sparkling with water. The two-storey house was as bright as new enamel and as clean as a seashell.

Dot was daunted. This was not the same as bribing a downtrodden cleaning woman to part with a letter. But Phryne needed to know about Anne and Phryne was terribly worried about Mr Lin and therefore Dot needed to find out about Mrs Anne Corder.

She forced herself up the steps and rang the front door bell. It was answered by a woman thrumming with nerves. She was thin as a wire and seemed to vibrate. Her flyaway dark hair was alive with static and Dot fancied that electricity had given her such vivid grey eyes.

‘Mrs Corder?’

‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need to know …’ began Dot. Mrs Corder started to shut the door.

‘I don’t buy anything at the door, nor do I answer questions,’ she snapped. Dot grabbed at the only advantage she had.

‘Artemis,’ she said.

Mrs Corder darted out, saw that no one was watching, dragged Dot inside and slammed the door.

‘Have you come from her?’ she hissed.

‘She’s dead,’ said Dot.