Dorothy Eden (35 page)

The wind was stronger now, tugging at Abby’s hair, and whipping her skirt round her legs. The leaves of the gum trees glinted and turned and crackled softly. A group of four nuns was coming down the street, their black garments ballooned into little storm clouds. Abby had to wait for another stream of cars to go by before she could cross the road to the school gates. There was no sign of Deirdre’s skinny figure. Expecting to be met by Mary, perhaps she wasn’t hurrying. Perhaps she was in one of her states of dawdling boredom.

The playground was reasonably empty of children. Most of them had swept down the street in their eager tide. Abby stood by the gate waiting. The four nuns had stopped at a bus stop and were clustered together, talking earnestly. They seemed to keep turning their heads to look at Abby. Or were they just looking to see if the bus was coming? She wished Deirdre would hurry. Had she been kept in? Being such a lone wolf, she was not likely to stay playing with the other children.

It was almost quiet now, except for the wind in the gum leaves, and the whoosh of passing cars. A dog was tied outside a butcher’s shop a little way up the street. It suddenly began to bark frenziedly, then was as abruptly silent. A bus was approaching now. Abby watched to see the four nuns climb on, clutching their heavy skirts. But oddly enough they ignored it, and continued their chatter, and their head-turning towards Abby.

All at once the old prickles of apprehension and suspicion came over her. She was being watched again. But surely not by four holy sisters! Luke would be certain she was suffering from an unnatural obsession if he heard about this.

She had to act. She couldn’t just stand there having foolish fears. She turned abruptly and went into the school grounds. To the first child within hearing, a stout freckled little boy, she said, “Have you seen Deirdre Moffatt? Do you know if she’s been kept in?”

“Deirdre Moffatt? Don’t know her, Miss. Oh, you mean Deirdre!”

“A thin little girl. Straight hair.”

“Yes, I know her, Miss. Her name’s Deirdre Henderson:”

Of course—Deirdre did have a father whose name she bore. One just never thought of her as anything but a Moffatt.

“She isn’t here today, Miss. She must be sick.”

“Are you sure?” Abby exclaimed.

Her intensity made the little boy suddenly shy and awkward.

“She’s in my class, and she wasn’t there.”

A football bounced near, and, glad to escape from a stranger, the boy leaped after it, shouting.

Abby hurried back to the street. Her mouth was dry, her heart beating too fast. Who was the woman who had telephoned her? Was she genuinely someone who worked with Lola? Or was she an accomplice of the fish-faced man—the man who had said sniggeringly, “Is that the little lady in red?”

She had to wait to cross the street again. The cars swept down at high speed. Everything was whirling at her. All the faces behind the steering wheels seemed friendly, but in too much of a hurry. They had no time to realize her more urgent hurry. Another bus was coming up to the stop, and this time, in a little flurry of activity, the nuns climbed aboard and were carried off.

Abby was quite alone in the glittering afternoon. And very frightened.

Reaching the top of the street at last, she could see the wide blue harbor and the great arch of the bridge. Nearer, she could look down to the green river, the faded gray roof of the Moffatts’ house, and the scarlet of the poinsettias in her own garden. She had to slow her pace a little to get her breath after hurrying so much up the slope. There were not many people about here, some children playing with a dog, and at the end of the street a little tableaux, the stooping figure of Mary pushing Milton in his wheel chair.

They were just about to turn the corner. Forgetting her weariness, Abby began to run. Before Mary was within hearing she had turned the corner. She seemed to be hurrying, too. Probably Milton was ill-temperedly saying he didn’t like being stared at. Or else that he was tired from his visit to the doctor.

Abby ran all the way down the street, but by the time she, too, had turned the corner, Mary was just disappearing through the gate to the big house. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, and turned her head. Abby waved wildly and called. But Mary didn’t hear, and went on in.

It was Mrs. Moffatt who answered the door a few minutes later in response to Abby’s frantic ringing.

“Why, Abby!” she said in surprise and pleasure. “You look so hot. Have you been hurrying?”

“Yes, I was trying to catch up with Mary and Milton.”

“They’ve just come in. Milton had to go to the doctor today instead of tomorrow, as usual.” The old lady peered closer with her wrinkled lizard’s eyes. “Has something upset you?”

“Is Deirdre home?” Abby asked.

“Yes, she’s been home all day. She got sick, or she said she felt sick, just after you all left this morning. I’m not sure it wasn’t an excuse to stay home from school, but I said that if she stayed home she had to stay in bed. See which she liked best, school or bed. So she’s in her room now. Did you want to see her?”

Abby leaned against the door. She felt foolishly breathless and weak.

“Then can you explain why I got a telephone message to meet her at school?”

“To meet Deirdre? Today? You mean, Lola rang you?”

“No, it wasn’t Lola. It was someone who worked with her. Or so she said. Mary had to take Milton to the doctor, so could I possibly collect Deirdre.”

Mrs. Moffatt said, “Good gracious! But Lola knew Deirdre was sick. Mary rang her.”

At that moment Mary appeared in the hall. She didn’t look as if she had been hurrying, for her face was quite pale. Although when she came nearer Abby could see the faint shine of perspiration.

“What are you saying, mother? Who did I ring?”

“Abby says she had a message to get Deirdre from school, but I’m just telling her you rang Lola to say the child was sick. So who could possibly have rung Abby?”

Mary’s eyes widened. “How odd! And you went all the way for nothing, Abby?”

“It was someone who knew you were taking Milton to the doctor,” Mrs. Moffatt added.

“That’s not so strange. I left over an hour ago. Anyone watching would see that.”

“But who?” said Abby.

“Yes, who?” repeated Mrs. Moffatt. “And why?”

Abby had to admit the basis for her fear at last.

“I expect it was to get me out of the house.”

Mary gave a gasp, and Mrs. Moffatt’s hand went to her throat. But in a moment the old lady had recovered herself and declared indignantly, “Now wouldn’t that be the meanest thing, to get you out of the house by a trick like that. Are you afraid to go home? I’ll come with you. I’m not afraid of burglars.”

The faint purr of wheels on polished floor sounded, and there was Milton looking extraordinarily fit, as if the outing had done him good.

“Has someone had a burglary? Abby, surely nothing’s happened in your house.”

“We don’t know yet,” said Mrs. Moffatt briskly. “But someone has used a mean excuse to get Abby out of the house for half an hour. And moreover when you also were out, Milton, because otherwise you’d have been at the window, wouldn’t you? You might have seen something. I’ve just been taking a nap, and Deirdre has, too.”

“Abby, shall I come down?” Milton asked. For the first time Abby saw his handsome face without its look of frustration and anger. He looked alert and interested. One could not have said there was any sympathy in his expression, but as yet there was no proof that sympathy was needed.

“Darling, you can’t manage that slope,” Mary fluttered anxiously. “And you know I can’t hold your chair on it.”

“Damn, damn, damn!” Milton exclaimed, his moment of kindness gone. He thumped uselessly on the arms of the chair.

“Don’t, Milton!” whispered Mary. “Mother’s going, anyway.”

“I’m not afraid to go alone,” said Abby. “I was only asking about Deirdre. Her safety’s more important than Luke’s and my few things.”

She felt almost calm now, and only wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery. Perhaps nothing had happened at all. Everything seemed to melt foggily into this kind of limbo, and the things which, for some perfectly good reason, she had done became quite meaningless.

“I’m coming with you,” said Mrs. Moffatt, flapping after her in her bedroom slippers.

A lizard flashed out of Abby’s path, an elongated shadow, swift as sound. She noticed that the house looked exactly as she had left it, closed, with the curtains drawn. Jock’s boat rocked gently on the green glass water. One of the kookaburras flew out of the jacaranda tree and perched, a cosy shape, feathers fluffed, on the chimney. Even when she had put her key into the keyhole and opened the door there was nothing different, no sound.

Breathing heavily behind her, Mrs. Moffatt whispered, “Is it all right?”

All at once Abby was glad to have her there, for she knew that it wasn’t all right. The bowl of carnations which she had put on the hall table were ever so slightly disarranged, as if someone had brushed past them quickly. One of the blooms was hanging almost out of the water.

Abby stood still, motioning Mrs. Moffatt to do the same. The old lady’s breathing was very audible. “What is it, dear?” she whispered tensely.

There was no sound in the house. No one was there now. A curtain billowed out in the kitchen where a window stood wide open. Abby was almost certain she hadn’t left it open.

“Someone’s been and gone,” she said, as if speaking to herself. “Like that lizard I just saw.”

But the only room in a state of chaos was the bedroom. There drawers were turned upside down and things flung about.

“Lordy!” said Mrs. Moffatt. “Your jewellery! That’s what he was after. Did you have much?”

“No. Very little. He wouldn’t have got much out of that.”

She was wearing her only treasured piece, Luke’s diamond engagement ring.

“I’ll have to ring the police,” she said dazedly.

It didn’t matter much what had gone, it really didn’t matter at all in comparison with the fact that hers and Luke’s bedroom was smirched and desecrated.

“Dear, dear, dear!” said Mrs. Moffatt. “And to think the thief used Deirdre as his weapon. Little innocent Deirdre!”

“Professional burglars always study their victims’ habits,” Abby said mechanically. “I expect I’ve been watched for some time.” Automatically her gaze went down to Jock’s boat. Jock had a very good idea of the pattern of her days. He had even had the impertinence to call at her back door. Had refusing him work caused him to have his revenge? But how foolish that would be, unless he planned to leave the river at once, before the police came.

“I’m going to ring Luke first,” Abby said.

“How can you be so calm? All your pretty things scattered about like this.” The old lady picked up a pale blue nightdress and her face looked more lizard-like than ever in its lugubrious bewilderment.

“I’m not calm at all,” said Abby. She felt a little sick, and, for some reason, much more frightened than the occasion seemed to deserve. It was this happening so easily in broad daylight that made it worse, as if the burglar were having a macabre joke.

When she got on to Luke he said in a controlled voice, “Good God! I’ll come home right away. Don’t do anything till I get there. Are you alone?”

“Mrs. Moffatt’s here.”

“Good. Then you girls sit down and have a cup of tea. Don’t touch anything in the bedroom.”

He hung up without even thinking to ask her what had been stolen. Which was as well, because so far she hadn’t found anything at all missing, not even her one good string of pearls.

Luke arrived in a short enough time to suggest that he had exceeded speed limits all the way. He looked briefly at the devastation in the bedroom, and went straight to the telephone to ring the police. His face was furious.

The burglar had found the catch on the kitchen window easy enough to open. There was only a little denting in the woodwork, and no broken glass.

“We’ll have to get better locks,” Luke said.

“This is Australia, not South Kensington,” Abby said nervously. “I didn’t think burglaries were so frequent.”

“They come in waves,” said Mrs. Moffatt. “I’ve known as many as six people being done in a week, then nothing for months. The burglars have moved to another area. I hope this isn’t a sign that this part is becoming fashionable again. Though goodness knows we haven’t much to lose. I sold all my jewellery long ago.” The little wrinkled face smiled up at Abby in its anxious, friendly way. “Don’t be too upset, dear. Now you’ve your husband to look after you I’ll go. And I hope you won’t still find that something valuable is missing.”

“Nothing missing, you say,” said the young policeman fingering his notebook.

“My wife says not, as far as she can discover.”

“He must have been disturbed, then. Perhaps you got back too quick, Mrs. Fearon. Could you identify this voice on the telephone again?”

“I don’t think so. All Australian voices sound alike to me. But it was someone who knew our names and our habits.”

“Easy enough to find that out. That’s an old trick of burglars. We’ll do some tests for fingerprints, but it looks to me this man’s too professional. He won’t have left any prints. It’s my guess he came by water.”

“Up the river!” Involuntarily Abby looked out at Jock’s shabby boat, lying low in the water.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t run the risk of being overlooked by anyone in the house up there, then. He could leave his boat down there and slip up the rocks. Who’s is that boat anchored over there?”

“Oh, that’s old Jock’s,” Luke explained. “He’s an odd job man who lives down there and does a few jobs ashore.”

“Then I’ll have a word with him.”

The two men went out to hail the boat. But there was no answer. No lanky figure appeared on the deck. The boat looked deserted.

It wouldn’t be, though. Abby was convinced old Jock was aboard and lying low. He would know what had been going on. She was sure he would.

However, before the police left half an hour later, Jock had appeared, slouching down the road, a knapsack slung on his shoulder. He made to scramble down the short cut to the river’s edge.