Unnatural Habits: A Phryne Fisher Mystery (Phryne Fisher Mysteries) (46 page)

Dot was shocked. ‘But they were poor people; I bet that—’

‘Doesn’t happen in the best of households? Perhaps not. Anyway, what was the name of that putative boyfriend? Herbert Grant, that was the name. A halfwit with a lot of money. Jack left us his address. Mr. Grant says he hasn’t seen Polly. I think I would like a word with him.’ Phryne smiled in a way which made Dot very uncomfortable.

‘There’s another possibility,’ offered Jane, who was reading Ruth’s notes.

‘What?’

‘The brother. His name’s Martin, but he likes to be called John. It says here that Cecilia said that Miss Kettle said something to him before she left that morning. He got packed off to Mount Martha that afternoon. If she left him a message to deliver, he wouldn’t have had a chance.’

‘I wonder if he knows that his sister is missing?’ asked Dot.

‘He shall,’ said Phryne, and went inside to telephone.

Ruth followed to eavesdrop.

‘Hello, darling, how are things in the outback?’ she heard Phryne ask. The telephone protested. ‘All right, not as out back as all that. And Chloe? In her usual good health? Excellent. I have a favour to ask.’ The phone made a quacking noise and Phryne laughed. ‘No, it isn’t trouble, really not, not for you. I just want you to go and interview a boy. His name is Martin Kettle, he likes to be called John, and he’s in Mount Martha at present at the Kettle relatives’ house.’ There was a patter of words. ‘No, darling, I don’t know their name. How many people are in Mount Martha? Precisely. Get weaving and find the little darling, and find out what his sister said to him before she disappeared. He may not know she’s vanished. Break it to him gently, if possible. I’m trying to find her.’ More protests. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage. Tell him to phone his father if he wants more information, not his mother. There’s something very odd going on in that family.’ More words. The telephone appeared to be expostulating. ‘No, I don’t think it’s incest. Just something odd. Nor do I think she is dead. No body. I tell you, darling, I have scoured the brothels for this girl and she’s not there. Also sneaked into a convent. Not one of my more fragrant experiences. And held up a ship—no, two ships. Piracy is a lot of fun; you should try it. Please—this is important.’ The telephone sounded much less annoyed. Phryne smiled at the receiver. ‘All right. Call me tonight. Love to Chloe.’ She hung up.

‘Is Chloe his wife?’ asked Ruth, not hiding her presence.

‘No, she’s his cat,’ said Phryne. ‘A beautiful, fluffy, very silly tabby on whom he absolutely dotes. I fetched her out of a tree and since then Charles has always said that he owes me a favour. I’m calling in my favours. I must be at my wits’ end.’

‘Would this Charles qualify to join the Blue Cat Club?’ asked Ruth.

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘You were talking to a man as if he was a girlfriend,’ explained Ruth, ‘and he hasn’t got a wife.’

‘You are very acute. He’d be a foundation member,’ said Phryne. ‘I met him during the war. You forge close friendships when you share a shell hole. Come along. We need to look up that address in Toorak in the directory.’

Phryne had attended many expensive parties in the most expensive suburb in Melbourne. Herbert Grant owned a mansion in St. Georges Road.

‘Very exclusive,’ commented Phryne. ‘Anything known about him?’

‘I asked Mr. Bert,’ said Jane, ‘and he just said one of them bloated capitalists. When I asked what his business was, he told me Mr. Grant would curl up and die if asked to do any work but had been a football player. For Melbourne, I think; a centre half forward. Retired when he hurt his knee.’

‘So he’s big and strong and fit,’ said Phryne.

‘Mr. Butler says the Kettles’ staff think Herbert Grant is a fool. The housekeeper said he was just short of being a moron and he’d inherited all his money from his father, who was in building.’ Dot was reading ahead. ‘And he’s twenty-eight.’

‘And not married?’ asked Phryne. ‘I wonder why?’

‘The Blue Cat?’ asked Ruth mischieviously.

‘Possibly. But why, then, would he want to marry Polly Kettle?’ asked Dot.

‘Anything about the rest of the family?’ asked Phryne.

‘Not much,’ said Dot, scanning the page. ‘He’s got a house in Castlemaine, he goes hunting and shooting and fishing and looks after his estate. He doesn’t come to Melbourne much. Here’s a picture that Mr. Robinson sent.’

Phryne looked, then passed it round the circle. It was of a large, stolid man in good tailoring.

‘Dumb as an ox,’ opined Tinker.

‘Why oxen, I wonder? Is it because they allow people to attach them to drays? I would have thought oxen were quite smart. They know everything they need to know about being oxen. It’s like saying “as weak as a kitten.” Kittens are very strong and spry for their size,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t know why people say these things.’

‘That’s people for you, Jane dear,’ said Phryne absently.

‘What do you want us to do, Miss Phryne?’ asked Ruth, who wanted to get back to the kitchen where Mrs. Butler would be starting dinner. She was on peeling duty this week. As a consolation, she got to watch the construction of the meals and was on tasting duty, as well.

‘All this is best done during the light of day,’ said Phryne. ‘Start creeping around at night and people in that neighbourhood will call the cops. We’ll drop in on Mr. Grant at a nice respectable eleven in the morning, just in time for tea. Should he offer us any. Which I doubt.’

‘Just you, Guv’nor?’ asked Tinker uneasily.

‘No, this is going to take all of us. Break out the playclothes, darlings. Not too poor. This is a very rich neighbourhood. You, Jane, will dress in your complete school uniform, with hat and gloves. Take a notebook and pen. You are doing a school project. I am escorting you. Dot is escorting two poorer children, her sister and brother. She is a housemaid, headscarf and apron. She has to take them to work because it is school holidays. Tink, I might need the housebreaking stuff; you can carry it. We will consult tomorrow. Now, everyone find something amusing to do. Tomorrow will prove to be really interesting. By the way, did Jack give us Grant’s telephone number?’

Yes, Miss Phryne, it’s here.’

‘Good,’ said Phryne, and took herself and her stiff limbs off for a soothing recline on her favourite sofa, with a copy of Bleak House. Dickens, she thought, had the right ideas about Justice.

Chapter Twenty

Once there, I’ll frighten her into marriage.

John Benn Johnstone, The Gipsy Farmer

Phryne had decided to sleep in until ten o’clock, and for once no alarums or excursions disturbed her rest. She was not concerned about the confrontation with Grant. After all, she had stuck up a ship almost on her own. How hard could it be to hold up a house? Charles had called and said that he had interviewed the boy, who seemed very distressed at hearing that his sister was missing. What she had told him was simple: that she would never marry Herbert Grant if he was the last man on earth. That seemed conclusive. The boy had told Charles that his mum was funny about Polly. She liked him all right, in fact Charles had received the impression that she was somewhat suffocating in her regard and far too demanding. Charles had summed the boy up as perfectly ordinary, make a good craftsman, not very bright, and much oppressed.

Which accounted for Martin-called-John and allowed Phryne to sleep in peace, which she did.

As she was nibbling her croissant, Dot told her that the rest of the minions were all prepared. Jane in her school uniform, crisp white shirt, demure cotton skirt and blazer, hat and gloves, notebook in hand. Tinker and Ruth in their shabby genteel finery. Phryne dressed in a severe blue suit with an azure hat which was not too daring.

‘Good,’ she said as she descended the stairs and surveyed them. ‘Very good.’

Dot straightened her headscarf, then darted into the kitchen.

‘What?’asked Phryne.

‘Dab of Lysol,’ said Dot. ‘Got to smell right.’

‘You are a gem among women,’ said Phryne affectionately. ‘Now, off we go. Dot, you three go to the kitchen door. I have been told by Mr. Butler that the housemaid and cook is a poorly paid slavey from an agency. She is not, luckily, an old family retainer who carried Mr. Grant in her arms when he was but a puling babe. Bribe her and she will go away, and that gives Dot the kitchen. If you’ve got the kitchen you’ve got the house. You take charge there. Tink, you and Ruth search the house. Quietly, secretly. You know how to move. Open all the doors. If you find one that is locked, then come and get me.’

‘How?’ asked Ruth.

‘Dot will bring in tea. I’m told that Mr. Grant is very proud of his family, especially his father, who was apparently a big loud bully. The son will doubtless try to emulate his pater. I will then ask for the amenities, and you will lead me to the locked room, which I will open. Now, this all depends on confidence and timing. If he rushes upstairs and discovers you, wail and blubber and tell him that you’re the maid’s siblings and you’re lost.’

‘What’s a sibling?’ asked Tinker.

‘A sister or brother,’ said Phryne. ‘Dot’s too young for you to be her children. Now, I’ll just leave a message with Jack Robinson so he’ll know where we’ve gone. Always secure your retreat.’

They set off in the big car for Toorak. Traffic was light at this time of day. Fitzroy Street was almost empty, even the nightclubs had emptied out and were washing the detritus of the night away. Phryne zoomed up Punt Road until she turned the big car into Alexandra Avenue, which followed the curves of the river until it magically transformed itself into St. Georges Road.

‘Gosh,’ said Tinker. ‘I never saw such big houses before. And all those high hedges.’

‘Don’t want the working classes to get anything for nothing,’ said Jane, quoting Bert. ‘Not even a glimpse of their front door. I don’t know I’d want to live in anything that big.’

‘My feeling exactly,’ agreed Phryne.

They passed decorously through avenues of majestic trees.

‘Here we are,’ said Phryne. ‘I’ll have to leave the car in the street. Though the chances of anyone pinching it in Toorak are fairly low. Some of these people hire their own guards, you know.’

‘In case of the revolution happening?’ asked Ruth.

‘Indeed. In which case they will hang from their own elms. There are some nice stout branches up there,’ said Phryne.

Dot muttered a prayer. Miss Phryne could be outrageous, sometimes.

‘Good luck, darlings,’ said Phryne, and put a hand to the front gate. Dot and her siblings took the tradesman’s entrance. The path to the front door was long and winding, meant to impress. The path to the kitchen was short and straight. Dot tried to remember something about roads to Hell and was therefore unprepared to be bailed up by a very large fierce dog, the approximate size and heft of the Hound of the Baskervilles, and seemingly composed of teeth.

***

Phryne’s path to Mr. Grant’s mansion was less fraught with danger. She rang the front doorbell and knocked the huge brass knocker in the shape of a Gorgon’s head. The sound echoed. She waited. Finally, there was a footstep and a girl in an apron hauled open the portal.