Unnatural Habits: A Phryne Fisher Mystery (Phryne Fisher Mysteries) (13 page)

‘I shall telephone,’ she said, and for the first time since she was six beat a retreat from another person.

Returned, Phryne told the patients that they need not try to rise and dress. The blonde woman shoved her hair back from her eyes and said, ‘I bloody heard all that. Can you bloody do it?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Phryne. ‘What’s your name? I’m Phryne Fisher.’

‘Oh, jeez,’ said the blonde woman. ‘I bloody know your sister. I’m Phoebe. Miss Eliza really bloody admires you. Now I can bloody well see why.’

At that point the ambulance arrived to take Ellie to hospital. Her baby went with her. Phryne instructed them to take her to the Queen Victoria and tell the admitting doctor that Phryne had sent her.

The small maid brought in tea. Phryne waited until they had eaten Mrs. Ryan’s private store of shortbread. They were weak, she thought, because they had been starved. Every face was hollow and hungry. The babies were thin and wailed because their mothers didn’t have the spare calories to make enough milk. Phryne was disgusted with the human race. Wolves, between ravenings, treated their pregnant and nursing females better than this.

Willis returned. He stood at ease, perfectly composed and expressionless, waiting for another order from Miss Steel.

‘Now, I need to know if there is anyone else here,’ Phryne said to the patients. ‘I’m looking for a woman reporter who came here yesterday. This is the last place she was seen. Anyone know anything?’

‘We weren’t bloody allowed out of this room,’ responded Phoebe.

‘But you used to listen,’ said Phryne.

‘Of course. Nothing else to do here but bloody wait for the next bloody bowl of gruel and read the bloody Bible. Not the whole Bible, mind. Just the nice bits. Nothing bloody exciting.’

‘And? What did you hear?’

‘Just a bit of talk. Then the bloody door slamming.’

‘Drat,’ said Phryne. ‘I am sending you a nurse, ladies, who will care for you until you recover. If you want to leave, you can leave. Stay here for a little while longer,’ she added and, collecting Willis, went out to explore the rest of the house.

‘I’m tired of picking locks,’ she told him. ‘If a door is fastened, break it down.’

He hefted his sledgehammer. For the first time she saw a trace of emotion on his face. It seemed that Willis really liked knocking down doors.

The other bedroom belonged to the son, Patrick. It had been wrecked, evidently by someone in a hurry to collect their belongings. Phryne picked through the rubbish. Lone socks, horrible underwear, a few discarded wrappers, bottles, butts and newspapers. No letters, cards or directions to the post office. Nothing to her purpose. The next room was locked and Phryne stepped back to allow the zombie room to swing. The cheap deal splintered very satisfactorily.

Inside was a camp bed, a chamber-pot, a copy of the Bible and nothing else. The small window was boarded over. It was dark and as hot as hell. Phryne directed Willis’ attention to the window. He actually grinned at her. The boards cracked and fell away and light streamed in. Willis swung again and smashed the small window, where the glass was already broken. He was clearly enjoying his day. Phryne wasn’t.

The chamber-pot was empty but smelt stale. The camp bed was barely more than strings. Prisoners had been kept here. Phryne sat down on the stretcher and looked at the plaster wall. It was scribbled over with names, pleas and rather crude anatomical drawings. Phryne went back for her bag, a pen and paper, and a further interrogation of the patients.

‘She locked us in there if we answered her back,’ offered the dark-haired woman, who said her name was Louise. ‘Or stole food.’

‘She bloody did,’ agreed Phoebe. ‘And I bloody kicked her bloody son a bloody good one in the shins when he shut me in there. Pity I had bloody bare feet, but.’

‘Didn’t do you any good,’ observed Louise.

‘Ah, yes, the son,’ said Phryne. ‘Did he rape you?’

Phoebe raised an eyebrow at this plain language.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘He didn’t bloody like pregnant women. He bloody pinched and slapped, though. Mean bloody bastard.’

‘Enjoyed cruelty?’ said Phryne.

‘He bloody did,’ agreed Phoebe.

‘What did you write on the wall?’ asked Phryne.

‘Die you bloody bastards,’ said Phoebe.

‘Very restrained of you,’ said Phryne.

Thereafter Phryne took a large sheet of butcher’s paper and traced every legend on the cell wall. Position might prove important. Then she searched the house. The kitchen was clean. It contained enough food to feed the patients for the rest of the day, though judging by the porridge pot and the supply of oats they had been existing on gruel. There were also liberal supplies evidently meant for Mrs. Ryan and her repulsive son. The yard was clean and orderly and bare. There were no more doors for Willis to smash and he returned to his resting trance.

Mrs. Ryan’s office had to be the place where she might find a clue. Miss Steel had replaced the telephone and was writing notes for her report in a fast, efficient shorthand. Phryne nodded to her and began to take drawers out of the desk.

After an hour she had gleaned that Mrs. Ryan’s paperwork was all in order, that she had an unexpected passion for Turkish delight flavoured with rosewater, her son smoked Capstan cigarettes, her sister lived in South Yarra, and she had stolen the patients’ letters. They had been opened and thrown into the bottom drawer of the desk. This piece of gratuitous cruelty made Phryne want to borrow Willis’ sledgehammer and break something. Preferably Mrs. Ryan’s head. Pointless to shove that sharp letter opener through her heart. She clearly didn’t have one. Phryne gathered the envelopes and began to sort.

The most recent were on the top. She took them back into the patients’ room.

‘Phoebe?’ she said. ‘There’s a letter—two letters—here for you. Sorry, nothing for you, Louise. And what is your name?’

‘Annie,’ muttered the woman who had not spoken. Her voice was dead. With this sort of neglect, a recent birth and nowhere to go, Annie might just give up and slide down into death herself. Her baby was not even crying. Phryne located a letter for Annie Jordan. She held it out. Annie did not even reach for it.

‘There’s nothing out there for me,’ she mumbled and closed her eyes.

‘You bloody beaut,’ said Phoebe. ‘Me sister’s gonna take the baby. And I can go back to bloody work.’

‘On the streets?’ asked Phryne. Phoebe sat up straighter.

‘That’s me bloody place. I’m all bloody right on the streets. And I won’t get bloody caught again, falling in bloody love with a bloody client and believing his bloody lies. Come on, love,’ she said roughly to Annie. ‘Pull yourself together! Gimme the bloody letter, I’ll bloody read it to you.’

Phryne watched as Phoebe laid aside her baby, unfolded the letter, and read it to herself. She gave Phryne a sharp glance and handed it back.

‘Not for this poor bloody Annie, after all,’ she said. Phryne took the letter away.

It was a brief and cold announcement that her father had barred her from his house. She was not to try to speak to her sisters or her mother. But she was enjoined to pray God for forgiveness for her sin. And for her false accusation against that good man, Father Kennedy. Phryne folded the letter into its envelope and shoved it into her bag. This would repay further investigation.

Miss Steel had returned.

‘Mrs. Chappell lives just around the corner and is on her way,’ she said with faint astonishment, aware that she was reporting to Phryne. ‘If you will guarantee her wages and the girl’s board then she is happy to stay for two weeks. She is between engagements.’

‘Did you tell her about this situation?’ asked Phryne.

‘Yes. She just wanted an assurance that Mrs. Ryan had gone. She seems to have taken against her.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Phryne, and led Miss Steel to the cell. Miss Steel’s cold face became colder. She went from the colour of good porcelain to vanilla ice cream.

‘I’ve made notes of all the graffiti,’ said Phryne. ‘If Miss Kettle was here, she might have written on the wall. I shall have to puzzle it out in a better light.’

‘When I find Mrs. Ryan,’ said Miss Steel, ‘she will be in trouble.’

‘And if I find that she has connived at her rotten son kidnapping a journalist, she will be in jail for many years,’ said Phryne. ‘So she will be in trouble with you and also really, really sorry.’

Unexpectedly, Miss Steel held out a hand.

‘I believe that she will,’ she said, and almost smiled.

Phoebe dragged herself out of bed, staggered a little, then actually left the cramped, hot room. She walked to the kitchen, steadying herself against the wall. There she opened cupboards and the icebox.

‘Bloody bitch,’ she remarked almost under her breath. ‘She’s had all this bloody food and let us do a bloody perish. You there, tall and handsome. Fetch me that bloody pot, will you? And the bloody butter and eggs and bacon and the milk. And bloody slice some of that bread. Girls, we are going to bloody have lunch.’

Willis looked at Miss Steel. She made no move. So he did as he was ordered, showing unexpected skill with the bread knife and today’s loaf. Phoebe had sunk down in a chair, out of strength for the moment but fighting still. Phryne turned away to hide her smile.

‘What can we do with all these letters?’ she asked.

‘Another crime to add to Mrs. Ryan’s list of offences,’ said Miss Steel. ‘Return to sender, I suppose.’

‘I’ll take them,’ said Phryne. ‘I’m going to the convent soon. Some of the women might still be working there.’

‘Caught in the grip of an outmoded belief system,’ said Miss Steel. Not a fan of religion, it seemed. Mind you, Phryne thought, she was rapidly going off it herself.

Nurse Chappell arrived. She was a small, plump, rosy woman of perhaps forty in a plain grey dress. Phryne saw that she had a carpet bag, a watch pinned to her bosom, an air of no-nonsense competence, and a faint scent of carbolic.

‘Miss Steel,’ she greeted the woman from the Welfare. ‘And you must be Miss Fisher. I’ve heard so much about you. Now, what have we here?’

Phryne outlined the situation. She put a banknote into Mrs. Chappell’s hands.

‘Food,’ she instructed. ‘Whatever you think proper. Hire a nursemaid if you like. They can stay or leave as they wish. And have a care to Annie. I think she might despair.’

‘Not in my nursery,’ said Mrs. Chappell briskly. Phryne credited the statement. Annie would recover or Mrs. Chappell would know the reason why. Miss Fisher consulted her watch.

‘Right, now I must go into the city. Can you give me a lift or shall I summon a taxi?’

‘I must stay here for a while,’ said Miss Steel. ‘Willis shall drive you wherever you wish to go.’