For seven hours, until she was relieved by an unsympathetic policewoman, Miss Parkes watched Elsie through delirium tremens. The old woman swore, screamed and twisted in pain. She winced away from snakes and little men who were staring at her. She clung to Miss Parkes so hard that her fingers left bruises and the latter required all her half-forgotten gymnast’s skills to hold Elsie down and stop her from tearing herself to bits.
‘Oh, Elsie, how could you do this to yourself?’ she asked aloud as she was led out. One black eye nailed her to her place. Elsie had returned for a moment.
‘Fear,’ croaked Lizard Elsie and dropped out of consciousness.
Miss Parkes was given police-issue tea in the sergeant’s office, which was entirely against the rules. In the room over her head an argument was going on about her.
‘But we can’t let her go,’ objected Constable Harris. ‘She’s got nowhere to go.’
‘Plenty of places,’ said Grossmith. ‘The men are complaining about her. Won’t wash, won’t eat. She’s a loony and ought to be in a loony-bin.’
‘She isn’t loony,’ said Robinson. ‘We just frightened her out of her wits. You know how it is with ex-prisoners. But I agree with Harris. We can’t let her go until we find out who did it, or she might be next. There are things which connect that boarding house with Albert Ellis and with Exit. These are ruthless people. Well, let’s go down and talk to her. See what state the poor woman is in.’
He led his companions down the stairs and into the custody sergeant’s office. There was a well-dressed woman there, obviously a visitor, drinking tea from a thick white cup. Robinson had to look at her twice to believe his eyes.
‘Miss Parkes. You feeling better, then?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Miss Parkes rose collectedly to her feet. I did knock on the door of Mr Christopher’s room. I lied to you because I was frightened. But I did not kill Mr Christopher, Detective Inspector.’
‘No,’ said Tommy Harris. ‘You didn’t.’
‘Do you know who did?’ asked Grossmith.
‘I’m afraid not, Sergeant.’
‘Until we do,’ said Robinson, ‘I propose to retain you in custody. We’ve had some shootings. I think you’d be better off in here.’
‘Of course,’ said Miss Parkes. ‘I can’t leave. Not until Elsie is through her DTs.’
‘She’s yelling for you,’ said the duty officer, returning. ‘I got some brandy. Only a spoonful at a time. Oh, Detective Inspector Robinson, Elsie’s creating—’
‘Where’s ’Melia?’ shrieked Elsie. ‘Them snakes is afraid of ‘Melia. Where is she? Bloody find me ’Melia!’
‘Coming, Elsie,’ called Miss Parkes and went back unescorted to her cell.
Robinson scratched his head. Tommy Harris beamed. Sergeant Grossmith grunted.
‘It’s not right. This is a bloody police station, not a recovery ward for aged female inebriates!’
‘Language,’ chided Detective Inspector Robinson.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Charles Dickens
Once Phryne had demonstrated that she could stand on Missy’s back steadily, despite complaining flyers, tumbling Catalans, roaring lions, two clowns playing a violin in a choice of keys, and a wire walker bashing two saucepans together, she was dismissed for the afternoon and told to get some sleep.
This was not an easy matter, although she was so tired that she could have lain down on a barbed-wire fence. The affair with Matthias the clown was known, so she could not sleep in his bed. Someone had found and removed her gun, so they knew where she slept in the girls’ tent, which meant that she couldn’t sleep there either. By an association of ideas she crossed the circus grounds and curled up under Bernie’s awning, next to Bruno. He was affected by the weather, which was hot and somnolent. He lay down beside her, laying his formidable head on her hip, and whickered softly through his nose.
It was the first time that Phryne had ever been lulled to sleep by a snoring bear.
She was woken by Bernie. Bruno scrambled onto all fours, hoping for biscuits. Phryne sat up and rubbed her eyes.
‘You look like something out of a fairy tale,’ commented Bernie. ‘Dinner’s on. Mr Thompson must have bought his wife flowers or something. She’s had a rush of blood to the head and dished up a quite decent Irish stew. For a change. Don’t waste this opportunity, Fern. It may never come again.’
Phryne splashed her face in Bruno’s drinking water and felt refreshed.
Mrs Thompson’s Irish stew, though it would not pass at the Ritz, was pleasant and filling. She perched on a bucket near the heat of the cook tent, and various people greeted her as they passed.
‘Ah, Fern,’ carolled a voice like buttered toffee. ‘Fern, Fern, makes my head turn. “For beautiful Fern I groan and . . . er . . . girn.”’ Matthias looked at her severely. ‘Don’t laugh. It’s Scotch. Probably Burns. “Fern will teach and I will learn. I gave my heart to beautiful Fern.” There. Can I have some stew, Mrs T?’
‘If you promise not to make any more poems,’ said the older woman. Matthias laid his hand on his heart and promised solemnly. Phryne saw that he had his other fingers crossed behind his back. She grinned up at him.
‘Help me carry this?’ he asked. ‘I have to take some back for Toby.’
Phryne slung her tin plate into the washing-up water and accepted the dish. ‘What’s wrong with Toby?’
‘He’s gone off again,’ said Matthias sadly. ‘Poor Toby. Gone funny, you could say. He doesn’t see or hear. Come in,’ he invited as they reached the caravan. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, Fern. I have to feed him.’
Toby sat where he had been placed in a comfortable chair in his own caravan. His eyes were open. He seemed to be breathing. That was his only sign of life.
‘How do you know something’s wrong?’ asked Phryne, cutting up the solid bits of the Irish stew. The ugly face with the beautiful grey eyes turned to her.
‘You were seen fighting off Jones behind the lions. You were molested by Miss Younger. You flattened a roustabout who said something nasty to you. Then you were found by Dulcie who took you to Mama Rosa. After that you vanished into the carnival, possibly with a diddikoi called Lee, or the strongman, Samson. Then you rode Missy in practice, took her back to the lines and groomed and fed her, then fell asleep with Bruno. Open your mouth, Tobias. It’s din-dins time.’
‘Do you know everything?’ asked Phryne, astonished.
‘No. But I want to know about you. I’m worried, Fern. Something is brewing.’
‘You bet,’ said Phryne. She wanted to say more but Toby’s open mouth and expressionless eyes worried her. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said uneasily. ‘You finish feeding him and then we can go into your caravan.’
